


The Hardest Lesson

by SylphofScript



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Deathly Hallows, Slow Burn, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphofScript/pseuds/SylphofScript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is faced with a task she'd never dreamed of facing. Swallow down pride and submit herself to Malfoy's constant presence, or watch as his father is put to death because she refuses to help. The life of Lucius Malfoy rests in Hermione's hands, and this is not something she is proud of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Redone from the first initial writing and posting because I was wildly unhappy with where it had gone and had run into a speed bump, among other things, regarding the fact I was not following canon. 
> 
> This has been fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is slow and awkward in places and doesn't accurately represent how the fic will be in later chapters and I do apologize for this, I wrote this first chapter back in 2011 and it wasn't even canon-compliant at the time because I kept Dumbledore alive and Cursed Child was but an unknown dream to the fandom. 
> 
> Honestly, it was a hot mess. I fixed it somewhat, but, from what I've written since that day to match my intentions that I now carry regarding this fic, things are going to get kind of dark. Not necessarily in the same ways Deathly Hallows was, but subjects will be broached and understanding will both be gained and lost as we go and, well ... okay, yeah, it's still a hot mess. The point of this was to let you know that this fic is kind of a spiral downwards in terms of what you might be expecting from this first chapter alone, and this is my apology that it's not going to happen like that. Or, maybe my reassurance?
> 
> I don't know your vices. I'm just a fic writer. I do me and then see if it also does other people, too.
> 
> Anyway, I'll shut up now. Thanks for checking this out, all the same!

**Hermione**

“McGonagall has a task for you?” asked Harry, peering over Hermione’s shoulder as she read the extra sheet of parchment that had come with her usual yearly Hogwarts letter. The three had decided to go back for their final year, an additional eight year having been added on for all students wishing to attend, as the previous year had been interrupted by the war. Hermione had signed up immediately, Harry and Ron following not too long after, not wanting Hermione in that setting alone and missing their old home setting more than a little. “What could it be?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione mumbled. Her eyes skimmed over the single (albeit lengthy) sentence scrawled on the paper in the Hogwarts Headmistress’ neat hand. It read:

                  _Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_

_Pardon my abruptness, as I would have contacted you much earlier had I had not been brought unto the matter abruptly myself, but I have a task that requires a smart witch with a strong will, have decided you fit the description perfectly, and therefor would like to see you first thing after the Welcoming Feast._

_Yours truly,_

_Madame Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Hermione sighed and placed the message down with the rest of the letter. Harry shot her a worried look, and she knew where he was coming from. McGonagall knew how far she had come in her years at Hogwarts and through the war, and to target her especially for something over the dozens of other witches in the school? The possibility of it being dangerous was fairly high. McGonagall wasn’t one to mess around.

Ron, however, was oblivious as ever. “I bet it’s something brilliant,” he mused. Pigwidgeon twittered madly and zoomed around the room in an attempt to dodge the dungbombs Ron was flicking at him. “I mean, come on, how often does McGonagall specifically ask one of us to do something for her?”

Hermione had to admit it had not happened before, not in such a way it was happening now.

“Ron,” Harry began, still looking worried, “what if it’s dangerous?”

“Dangerous? This is McGonagall we’re talking about!” said Ron. Again, Hermione had to admit Ron was right. She was a sensible woman, after all.

“You have a point,” Harry voiced her thought, his mood lightening with relief.

“’Course I do,” Ron replied with a smirk and flung another dungbomb at Pig, sending him into a furious flutter. Hermione reached over and snatched them from him, earning a hoot of thanks from the owl and a huff of annoyance from the owner.

“Harry,” Ginny called as she entered the room the three were huddled in, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Ron, ‘Mione. Got your letters?”

They held a letter up a piece in turn in response, each piece of parchment glimmering with a hint of something extra that had not been added to previous letters from Hogwarts. Ginny’s eyes fell on Hermione’s slightly thicker bundle and she frowned. “What’s that?”

“McGonagall wants to talk to me after the feast,” Hermione responded vaguely, tucking the letters away with an air of blasé about her. Ginny eyed her, but let it go. Hermione knew she’d be interrogated later, but for now she had a moment of freedom.

“I’m headed out to Diagon Alley for my supplies. Are you three coming?”

Harry nodded instantly, barely even hesitating. Ron and Hermione followed his lead a beat later, and, together as a group, they flooed to the alley for their school supplies.

\---

**Draco**

Draco meandered down the street of Diagon Alley, chest thrust out and nose held high as he made his way to Twilfit and Tattings for a new set of dress robes. Not that he needed them, of course, but when he got his supply list from Hogwarts and it listed (yet again) a set of dress robes needed for the upcoming year, he knew he wasn’t going to hide out in his manor, separated from the mumbles and mutters that followed him wherever he went. Defiantly, he chose to go out and purchase another set. Damn those who thought his dropped charges were a bad decision. It wasn’t on their shoulders to make the choice, after all.

They had never been in his shoes. They didn’t know; they didn’t care.

He needed to stop thinking about it, he told himself. There was no reason to dwell. He had to … keep living.

Draco swallowed thickly, glancing at the people standing by the corner he was rounding, and switched mental tracks.

Thinking about what color robes he should purchase in an attempt to block out the whispers of a set of witches he had just passed, Draco pushed open the carved wooden doors to Twilfit and Tattings and was immediately greeted by a pretty brunette witch with several tape measures draped around her neck.

“Mr. Malfoy! So good to see you again!” said the witch as she guided him to the back of the shop where they kept the special fabrics for those who knew to ask. Not that he even had to ask, of course. “Your mother is not with you today?”

“No,” he drawled slowly, giving her a sultry smile after sweeping his eyes across the place. Might as well act like he still had it together, right? Never mind the fact his mother couldn’t leave the manor some days. “I preferred to go alone this time, so I can better appreciate the … _view_ without her interrupting.”

The witch responded by looking up at him through her eyelashes, batting them at him a few times before turning and walking noticeably slower for his enjoyment. Despite the fact he wasn’t actually interested, he kept up the façade. It was better to be treated well as a lie than horribly as a truth; the witch was only doing it for the money. That didn’t bother Draco.

Much, anyway.

And Draco did indeed enjoy watching her walk as he followed her through the crimson curtains hiding the lounge, where the special customers sat while they waited for their fabric and one-of-a-kind robe choices to be brought to them. The witch stopped and turned to Draco, who didn’t bother to raise his eyes immediately, but rather chose to do it slowly, savoring. Faking.

His eyes finally reached her appreciative eyes and froze at something he had glimpsed over her shoulder: a head of bushy, curly brown hair. His heart seemed to stop for a second before his mouth popped open in surprise.

_“Granger?!”_

The witch in question turned sharply, the pale, ice-blue dress she was holding to her body swirling out in a shimmering wave of silk and her bushy hair, tied back in a rather lame attempt at a ponytail, sweeping away to reveal the unusually flustered face of the Mudblood Hermione Granger.

Her face, already pale, had grown paler the moment her eyes settled on him. Something charged in the air between them, and Draco knew it was too soon. But he did not back off. He had a role to play in order to keep this from turning into a nightmare and, damn it, he was going to play it right.

_“M-Malfoy?!_ ”

“What are _you_ doing here?!” they chorused together, immediately drawing back in slight surprise, Granger’s mouth snapping shut and Draco’s shoulders steeling. His response came just a beat too late.

“ME?” Draco replied incredulously, spluttering just slightly, “I come from money, Granger, why wouldn’t I be here? The better question is how on earth did you manage slip your filthy-blooded self behind those curtains?”

Granger’s face flushed. She seemed at a loss for a moment, but then a steel came into her eyes, and Draco knew she was coming to her old self for this. “For your information, Malfoy, I always shop here for dress robes.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s not true, I saw you in Madam Malkin’s with Potter and Weasley.”

“Yes, I was buying dress robes there, but only because Ron and Harry shop there normally and I didn’t want to make a special trip when I only needed them for something small. Harry needed new school robes and Ron and I were just accompanying him,” she replied, her upper lip curling into a sneer. “Or wouldn’t you know how real mates act around one another?”

Draco returned the sneer before turning his attention back to the witch whom had led him into the back room. “I cannot shop happily here with _her_ —” he flicked his nose in Granger’s general direction “–so close within my vicinity. I request you remove her at once.”

The witch furrowed her brows and replied in a timid voice, “Mr. Malfoy, I’m sorry, but we can’t do that.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

Granger shot him a triumphant look as the witch continued speaking, “Miss Granger, too, is a very important customer here at Twilfit and Tattings, and we do not place one above the other, especially when Miss Granger was in fact here before Mr. Malfoy was.”

Draco glared furiously at both Granger and the insolent witch who refused to remove her. If they would not remove Granger from the premises so he could buy his own dress robes, he would just have to leave and buy them elsewhere. Yes, that’s what he would have to do.

Opening his mouth, Draco prepared to voice this when he stopped himself with a sudden thought. _Where_ would he buy robes elsewhere? Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions couldn’t possibly live up to the standards he had so prided himself on having, nor could any other robe shop in London. The closest place he could think of was in France, and there was no way he would be able to secure just the right dress robes in time, the Hogwarts train left tomorrow and he still could not Apparate properly, not after—well. It just wasn’t possible.

So, Draco closed his mouth resolutely, sauntered over to one of the white suede lounge chairs, and seated himself there while assuming a look of pure boredom.

“Carry on, then. I’ll wait.”

Granger shot him a look of horror. “But I’ve barely even started!” she cried, indicating the other different-colored dress robes floating, via some enchantment, alongside her.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, as if that were nothing of importance. This was true, as _she_ was nothing of importance. He watched as Granger’s mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed into slits before she suddenly slumped her shoulders and looked down at the dress robes she was holding. The brunette witch, who had been frozen to the spot, suddenly sprang into motion, bustling up to Granger. “What can I help you with, Miss Granger? Perhaps you’d like to try on the mint green?”

The frilly dress in question floated over to Granger at the wave of the witch’s hand, holding itself up over the blue one Granger was holding, seemingly in attempt to cover the other up with itself. Granger, however, paid it no mind.

“I think I’ll come back later,” Granger stated quietly. A malicious grin spread on Draco’s mouth as he realized he had won, but before it could fully form, Granger looked him in the eyes with a hard expression on her face. “I want my friends’ input and, if I don’t go and remove them forcefully from Broomstix myself, they’ll be there all day and we’ll never get our shopping done.”

Draco’s semi-formed grin slid off his face. That was the last thing he wanted, Potter and Weasley bothering him while he attempted to shop.

Noticing her words had the intended effect on Draco, Granger gently handed over the ice-blue dress robes to the witch, scooped up her things from the chaise lounge across from Draco, and headed out of the room. Just as she passed Draco, he smirked again.

“Make sure you remember to stop at Madam Primpernelle’s, I heard they finally got in a potion to make even the ugliest troll look smashing, and, even though it probably still isn’t strong enough for you, it might help at least a teeny bit. If we’re lucky, of course.”

Granger froze in her tracks, her back straight and shoulders hunched up in anger, and turned slightly to Draco, her face thrown into shadow. “Funny, Malfoy, but I distinctly remember at the Yule ball you had not a single word of malice for me,” she said softly before walking through the curtains. Draco heard the chime of the doorbell signal her departure.

_She’s right,_ thought Draco with slight disgust, remembering how she had looked alongside that brute of a boy, Krum, at the Yule Ball. _I couldn’t find a single thing to insult her on. Pansy smacked me in the head when she found me staring ..._ Draco rubbed the back of his head absentmindedly as he resolutely made a decision for the upcoming year.

Draco may not have had anything to insult her with that time, but this time around he would have something to say to her. He was sure of it.

\---

**Hermione**

“Oh stop fretting, Hermione, I’m sure McGonagall wants you to watch over some sort of special club they’re having for students who can’t pass their O.W.L.s or something,” Ginny said cheerfully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Why else would she need someone as smart as you if it wasn’t school-related?”

“Yes,” Hermione muttered, her brow still furrowed. “Yes, I supposed you’re right …”

“I already told you not to worry, ‘Mione,” Ron told her thickly, a cauldron cake shoved into his mouth. Ginny shot him a disgusted look while Harry simply looked amused. Luna, sitting in the far corner of the booth she was sharing with Ginny and Ron, merely gazed out the window dreamily, as if she were not associated with the other occupants in the carriage. Giving a great swallow, Ron continued, “and when have I ever been wrong?”

At this Hermione and Harry both couldn’t help but shoot him an incredulous look at him, to which he responded to densely with a “What?” that neither bothered to respond with anything but a shared look of exasperation. Deciding it would probably be a good idea to change the subject before Ron could catch up and look rightly affronted, Hermione turned to Ginny.

“So, what color dress robes did you buy for the mystery event?” Hermione asked excitedly, to which all the boys groaned.

“Nooo not girl-talk …” Ron moaned. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

Harry and Neville nodded vigorously in agreement, but Ginny retaliated. “We’re going to have girl-talk, so either deal with it or go bemoan it someplace else, if you don’t mind,” she said firmly. The boys exchanged sad looks and stood up, muttering something about finding the Trolley Witch as they filed out the door.

“I’d thought they’d never leave,” said Luna in her wispy voice, the first thing she’d said since the train had left the platform. She turned her large eyes on Ginny and Hermione and smiled. “My dress is blue and bronze, for Ravenclaw,” she explained, though Hermione had not asked her directly.

“Nothing wrong with house pride,” Ginny said with a hint of finality. “I’ve decided to go with white lace this time. So hard to find anything to go along with this horrid mess,” she waved her hand over her head, indicating her smooth, vivid red hair.

“Mess?” Hermione replied with a laugh and gestured to her own head, “THIS is a mess. Your hair is absolutely gorgeous and I wouldn’t doubt you’d look great in any color despite it.”

“Yes, it is a beautiful color,” Luna agreed, tapping her chin as if in deep thought over the matter. “If only it weren’t such a beacon for Nargles …” She trailed off and returned to looking wistfully out the window at the passing scenery. The other two girls exchanged an amused look at Luna’s usual beliefs in the creatures scarce others believed in. A sudden thought crossed Hermione and her smile faded.

“You—you don’t reckon this is another tournament like the Triwizard Tournament, do you?” Hermione questioned Ginny quietly, her voice wavering at the thought.

“No,” Ginny stated firmly. “After what had happened, I highly doubt McGonagall would even consider the idea, much less agree to let something like that take place at Hogwarts again.”

 But Hermione wasn’t entirely brought off the matter by Ginny’s assurance and bit her lip in thought. She wasn’t given a whole lot of time to her worries, however, as Ginny had seen that Hermione was about to lapse into thought-filled silence and decided to speak up again before it could happen.

“You didn’t tell us about your dress color yet,” said Ginny in a voice that told Hermione she would not be given a single moment to her thoughts until she was up in her own bedchamber. Deciding not to even bother arguing the matter with the stubborn Weasley girl, Hermione opened her mouth to reply when the door to their carriage slammed open and Ron and Harry slid in laughing their heads off.

“You … should have … seen … Stinksap … Slytherins … _hilarious_ …” Harry gasped out between great bellows of laughter. Ron had doubled over; he was laughing so hard. The girls watched in bemusement as they failed to explain their story to any form of coherence. After they had finally stopped laughing enough to speak, Ron relayed the entire thing for them, breaking down in laughter once again halfway through and leaving Harry to wrap it up.

“… So Malfoy comes out to make fun of Neville and me, since we got stuck in the carriage door together (we had been visiting the other Quidditch team members), and the next thing you know, he’s covered from head to foot in Stinksap!” Harry finished and everyone collapsed in laughter over the image Harry had described to them of Malfoy covered in foul slime. Luna, as usual, shrieked the loudest and proved she had indeed been listening while looking out the window.

After the laughter had again died down to the occasional chuckle, Ginny asked Neville’s whereabouts. Ron and Harry froze in place, their eyes wide and mouths slack in apparent horror.

“We left Neville!” they yelled together and attempted to scramble out the carriage door at the exact same time, resulting in the same problem Harry and Neville had found themselves in earlier. They struggled against one another furiously, their faces now a mixture of horror at leaving Neville behind and frustration at being stuck like they were. With a sigh of extreme exasperation, Ginny stood up.

“For the love of …” She muttered and promptly gave them both a great shove that sent them flying through the doorway and falling hard upon one another on the floor.

“Ow …”

“Bloody _hell_ did you get that kind of strength …?”

Ignoring them both, Ginny sat back down and Hermione stood up. “I’ll go get Neville.”

Ginny shrugged and muttered something about not stepping on the troll-brained babies lying on the floor as Hermione stepped carefully around the two wizards she called her best mates.

“I’ll be back, okay?” she said down to them. Harry replied with something in the affirmative and Ron didn’t reply at all.

Figuring out which direction to go in wasn’t difficult, as the place where Malfoy had been standing when the Stinksap had magically been splattered all over him was reeking of rancid manure all down the hall and the floor was stained an unsightly green color. Holding her nose, Hermione carefully stepped around the slime-stained portion of the floor, turned, and performed a _Scourgify_ spell to remove it. She turned back to resume her search and was immediately affronted by the last person she wanted to see.

“Twice in one week, Granger? What on earth have I done to receive such a punishment?” said Malfoy, sneering at her as he emerged from the lavatory at the back of the train compartment.

Completely ignoring his remark, Hermione released her nose and stood straighter. “I see you look as foul as ever, Malfoy, couldn’t get the Stinksap off?” she said coolly, knowing full well that there was no trace of the Stinksap on him any longer.

Malfoy flushed and narrowed his eyes. “Watch yourself, you stupid Mudblood.”

“You first,” she replied curtly and made a move to walk past him. Malfoy lashed up his arm in a flash, blocking her from being able to walk past him in the already cramped isle. She shot him a look of venom and wasn’t surprised to see he was returning the look. They stood there for what seemed like minutes upon minutes, neither giving in to the other, not blinking and breaking the eye contact. The temperature seemed to drop significantly from the wickedly cold glares they were exchanging and hatred for one another poured off in almost-tangible waves. The war may have changed some things, but their relationship wasn’t one of them.

“ _DRACO!_ ” a voice screeched from the opposite end of the train compartment, to which Hermione’s back was. Not breaking the eye contact, Malfoy slowly gave Hermione a malicious grin that, though she wouldn’t admit it to him, set her nerves on edge. She instinctively reached into her robes for her wand. Footsteps sounded from behind her and the voice spoke again. “Draco, what are you doing talking to such filth?”

Not missing a beat, Hermione swiveled her head in the direction of the voice’s owner, Pansy Parkinson, and retorted, “He talks to you, does he not?”

Parkinson stared at her, momentarily shocked at receiving such a response from the girl who normally shrugged off taunts and the like, but quickly recovered and gave her a look of loathing. Reaching around Hermione as if afraid to touch her, Parkinson grasped ahold of Malfoy’s wrist and gave him a tug. Without much persuasion Malfoy dropped the arm that was blocking Hermione, stepped around her, and allowed Parkinson to pull him back to their carriage without once looking back. Hermione, still riled up from the encounter, stood there for a few moments longer, seething at the carpet, before remembering what she had originally set out for.

“Oh, drat. Neville …” She muttered to herself and set off at a brisk walk to continue her search.

\---

**Draco**

 The only noise in the great hall came from the small, timid stepping of the new first years as they filed into the Great Hall for their sorting. This was always the most boring part of the Welcome Feast for Draco, as he really did not care who was coming into Slytherin, as long as they were smaller than him. And by now they always were. It came with the fact that he was a year too old to be here. He scowled, remembering the “conversation” that had occurred between him and his parents when the subject of returning had come up. It had not gone well for his side of the argument, obviously.

He glanced over at the other tables in boredom, noticing the Weasley girl comforting Longbottom, probably, he figured, because the twat was embarrassed about being jinxed into the toilet on the train by Draco himself. Draco had caught Longbottom trying to walk away with Potter and Weasley after someone, he still wasn’t sure who, had splattered Stinksap all over him. Even though he knew it probably wasn’t Longbottom, who still had immense trouble doing any sort of magic, he could resist jinxing him anyway to relieve some of the anger he was feeling. He thought for sure Granger had found him out, too, when he found her cleaning the spot he had been standing on when he was assaulted, but she did not seem to realize at the time that Longbottom was in the lavatory he had just left.

There was no denying that Granger knew now, however, as she turned her eyes from the passing first years to shoot him a glare full of the utmost loathing before turning her attention back. No matter. It wasn’t his fault Longbottom couldn’t take care of himself.

Thirty dreadfully boring minutes later all the first years had been sorted into their houses and McGonagall was raising her hands with a flourishing wave in synch with the appearance of the feast food, to which the first years responded with the awe that all of the students here had responded with during their first year. It had gotten old five years ago, but the food, at least, still looked amazing.

Wasting no time, he eagerly reached for his favorite foods and tucked in. On his left, Goyle tore into a drumstick and gnashed his teeth together, somewhat resembling a troll. It was a bit of a startling sight to see him here, especially without Crabbe around to complete the set, and Draco felt a sudden tug of regret that this year the both of them weren’t flanking him like they had in the past. More startling was the band of magic around Goyle’s wrist—the same one a few other students, Blaise included, he noticed when his friend had greeted him on the train, wore—a behavioral tracker that sent information back to the Ministry on what spells he would be using during the duration of his school year. Somehow, Draco had managed to dodge this part of parole that many students had been allowed in favor of education, but it still made him uneasy to witness. Instead, this year Pansy was sitting on Draco’s right, cutting into her pork chops and looking over at him every time she lifted her fork to her mouth, her wrist also free from the glimmering bit of magic. Draco pretended to be entertained, but honestly, he was getting bored with her and her antics. Yes, she was excellent at taunting and her laughter at his jokes and insults to others was always excellently timed, but sometimes her chatter got to him. Everyone could use some quiet now and then—more now than anything, in Draco’s case.

As everyone was finishing up, McGonagall stood up again, wished everyone a good semester, and dismissed them. Standing up quickly, Draco slipped out before the mass of students clogged the entryway and heading to the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmistress’s office. As soon as he rounded the corner that hid the gargoyle from view, he stopped and frowned. For the third time this week, and second time today, unfortunately, his view was obstructed by a head of bushy brown hair. This was starting to get too annoying to be a coincidence.

“Are you _following_ me, Granger?”

She didn’t turn to look at him right away like she had in Twilfit and Tattings but waited a few moments as if composing herself before turning slowly to face him, her eyes showing she was clearly tired of this game.

“Technically, Malfoy,” she began in her know-it-all voice, “ _you_ would have to be following _me_ , since all three of these meetings have been you finding me and not vice-versa.”

“That’s absolute rubbish,” he retorted. “Why would I want to follow a Mudblood like you?”

She shrugged and answered tiredly, “I was simply stating that there was no way I could be following you when you were coming to me, not me coming to you.”

“I wasn’t ‘coming’ to you, Granger.” He looked appropriately disgusted at the thought.

Granger rolled her eyes and sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She kept her mouth open slightly as if to add to it, but seemed to think better of the idea and shut her mouth completely.

Draco smirked and was about to retort when the stone gargoyle suddenly sprang into motion. They both stared at the steps, waiting for someone to descend, when a set of footsteps sounded from behind them and they both turned to find McGonagall walking up. She gave them no immediate greeting, her expression solemn and slightly grim.

“Professor McGonagall!” Granger exclaimed in a happy greeting as she walked past. Draco shot her a disgusted look and followed McGonagall towards the staircase and realized, suddenly, that he had no idea why Granger was here, too. He didn’t have time to confront her, though, as they all ascended the staircase together and stopped in front the door to the Headmistress’s office.

She opened the door and gestured for them to go in first. Making sure Granger entered behind him, Draco sauntered into the room. He didn’t get very far, though, before he realized just _why_ he had received that note from McGonagall. The question was, why had his parents not said anything to him about it when he had shown them it?

“Father? Mother?” Draco asked, somewhat dumbstruck at the fact both his parents were sitting in the chairs before McGonagall’s desk. “W-What are you doing here?”

\---

**Hermione**

“That, Draco, is exactly what we’re going to discuss,” McGonagall explained in a clipped tone as she walked over behind her desk, conjured up two more chairs, and sat down herself.

Hermione was absolutely stunned.  The entire Malfoy family was gathered in McGonagall’s office; obviously this had something to do with them. But why was she, a _Muggle-born_ , here too? The Malfoy family loathed everything about her and those like her, so there was no way they were doing this willingly. She could think of absolutely nothing, and, glancing at (the youngest) Malfoy’s stunned face, realized he didn’t know what was to happen here either.

McGonagall gestured for them to seat themselves and Malfoy lurched forward and sat down, challenging Hermione with his eyes to do the same and bring her “filthy blood” far too close to him for his comfort. Wanting to get whatever this was over as fast as possible, Hermione muttered that she’d stand and was immediately confronted by Mrs. Malfoy.

“Please sit, dear, this may take a while and you may need to sit when it’s over anyway,” she said in a soft, somewhat hollow-sounding voice. Malfoy shot his mother a mixed look of horror and shock at her behavior towards someone whom he believed to be so beneath himself. Hermione, too, was fairly shocked at being treated so kindly, though she had never met Mrs. Malfoy formally and truthfully did not know her disposition. Somewhat numb, Hermione nodded and sat down in the only empty chair, right next to Malfoy. Malfoy opened his mouth in a clear attempt at a protest but was instantly quieted by a withering look from his father.

“Now,” McGonagall began, pulling forth some parchment that culled at the ends and watching them each in turn as she continued on, “I know you two have no idea what’s going on.”

It was clear by “you two” she had meant Hermione and Malfoy, not Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

“No idea?! You two _knew_ this was—”

“Now, Draco,” Malfoy’s father said, cutting Malfoy off in his icy voice, “let the Headmistress speak.”

“Thank you, Lucius,” said McGonagall, to which Mr. Malfoy gave a curt nod. “There is a very important reason you both are here today. All four of you, as the senior Malfoys already know, are going to play a huge role in the upcoming year, and, with the right cards played, will save a life.”

At this point Mrs. Malfoy made a sound like a choke. Malfoy glanced over at his mother, beyond confusion, and Mr. Malfoy sat stoic in his chair, his hard silver eyes on McGonagall. Hermione looked from Malfoy, to Mr. Malfoy, then to Mrs. Malfoy, and finally to McGonagall, where she gave her a look that clearly showed she didn’t have the faintest idea what all of this, whatever it was, had to do with her.

McGonagall noticed her and gave her a tiny nod before speaking, “Narcissa, would you like to continue?”

Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and resting it against her mouth, Mrs. Malfoy took a few deep breaths and then nodded, turning her tear-filled eyes on her befuddled son.

“Draco, dear, some things have been ‘uncovered’ at the Ministry,” she paused, furrowing her brow like she didn’t understand what she was saying. “Things that we were not aware of when the first trial was had, and … your father has been scheduled for retrial for being found guilty of serving the Dark Lord,” Malfoy’s mother explained in a strained voice and choked over the last word. Malfoy’s eyes widened and he shoot an alarmed look at both McGonagall and Hermione in turn, both of which, to his obvious shock, looked no different. Hermione herself had already known the accusations on Malfoy’s father from reading the _Daily Prophet_ and from being best friends with Harry. And if Hermione knew, then no doubt McGonagall already knew.

Mrs. Malfoy gave another small choking sound and then continued, “H-he’s to be g-given the … _the Kiss_!”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed visibly and his eyes took on a glazed look as the words washed over him. Hermione watched him and almost, _almost_ , felt a pang of pity for the family, but the pang never really came as she remembered the horrors that Mr. Malfoy had placed upon those like her and her family and the endless taunts his son had bestowed upon her friends. _Muggle-born haters_ , she reminded herself and her lips instinctively curled in abhorrence. She looked to McGonagall, ready to ask to be dismissed, when she was given a look so stern that her lips never opened to speak. McGonagall’s gaze burned.

Do not act.

Well fine, Hermione could do that. McGonagall herself had said she had a strong will, after all, and anyone would need a strong will to keep their composure whilst in the presence of a family like this.

_Hold on ..._ Hermione thought, realization dawning on her, _Oh no. No, no. McGonagall doesn’t want me to continue to be in their presence ..._ Hermione searched McGonagall’s face, though she did nothing more than look calmly at the scene before her. _... Does she?_

Panic began to well in Hermione’s throat. There was no way, _no possible way_ , she could stand it. You’d have to be right mental.

The noise of Mr. Malfoy clearing his throat brought Hermione from her thoughts and centered the attention of the others onto him.

“I do believe it’s time we got to the point, Headmistress,” Lucius Malfoy said in his icy voice.

McGnagall nodded, “I quite agree. Now, Miss Granger,” she turned her full attention on Hermione, as did the others, “I know you’re wondering what all of this has to do with you. Well …”

McGonagall raised a hand in signal and Mr. Malfoy stood up, turned to face Hermione, and bowed at the waist. _To her._

This, Hermione found, was not good. Not good at all.

“Miss Granger,” Mr. Malfoy began from his obviously, by the wildly confused look his son was giving him, out-of-character pose, “my family will be forever in your debt if you were to do this for us.”

Hermione stared. She did not care that she was reaching the point of impoliteness, she could do nothing more. After a few moments, when she realized they were waiting for her to say something, she opened her mouth and spoke stutteringly, “S-Sorry … but, what exactly _is it_ I have to do?”

Mr. Malfoy glanced up at McGonagall. Nodding, McGonagall once again spoke. “For the next year, you, Hermione Jean Granger, will be within the Malfoy family’s presence at every possible moment so that they can learn to accept what they have been taught for centuries to reject, that Muggle-borns and Muggles alike are meant to walk this earth as their equals.

“You will not be required to do anything more but tolerate their presence, as they need to learn this lesson on their own terms. At the end of the year-long process, they will be evaluated, though the evaluation methods are currently unknown to me. If they are to pass, then they will be tested every year for the following five years to be sure that they did not somehow fake their results. If they are to fail, be it the first time or one of the following five times, Lucius Malfoy will be given The Kiss and his remaining family will be watched closely until the end of their days. Now, Miss Granger, I have one question for you.”

McGonagall paused and looked at Hermione, understating radiating from her eyes. There was a hint of pain for asking this of Hermione, of her favorite student during a year of school that should not have happened. And then, there was trust. Trust that Hermione would answer her next question in the way she wanted—needed—her to. She opened her mouth slightly, never wavering from her gaze, and spoke quietly:

“Do you accept?”


	2. The Agreement

**Hermione**

“You _what_?!”

Ron’s voice echoed shrilly throughout the corridor and Hermione winced, her frown only deepening at his reaction. Harry stood close, pressing his forearm against hers in comfort even though the shock and unease at the situation bothered him just as much as it clearly bothered Ron. Hermione almost regretted telling the two of them so soon—mere moments after she had descended the staircase from McGonagall’s office and found the two loitering in the corridor nearby—but she knew McGonagall had plans to go about the new arrangement. It was better to let them know ahead of time from her own lips than have them find out with the rest of the school.

Or so she had thought. The way they were reacting was giving her some serious second thoughts, especially when regarding Ron’s overall maturity and ability to accept sudden unwanted information. She had failed to take that into consideration, her mind fuddled from what she had just gone through.

“Why didn’t you just say no?!” Ron continued to screech, arms flinging out wildly and face turning a brilliant shade of puce. Hermione ducked as a quill flew out from his pocket, propelled by the rage of the wizard, but Harry wasn’t so alert and it smacked against his face. He spluttered, thrashing his arms in front of his face as Ron went on. “You should have let the family of gits get what they had coming to them!”

“Ron, I couldn’t,” Hermione told him as she straightened Harry’s glasses for him, her voice high and tired from the situation already. “They were all in there, staring at me, looking at me like I was their last chance—”

“You  _were_  their last chance,” Harry reminded her in a rough mumble, still dazed despite the furrow to his brow that revealed he was in the middle of a deep thought, or perhaps still processing the situation. Hermione nodded gratefully, at least Harry understood even if he didn’t approve.

“Yes! I just couldn’t, not to their face. Not like that.”

“Bloody well could have! Don’t give me that, ‘Mione. You just set yourself up for a year of hell and torture,” Ron said. He wasn’t even facing her now. Instead he stood off, glaring murderously at the window like he could shatter it with his very gaze. He probably could, Hermione rationalized as her mind switched from Muggle to Magic and a hairline crack began to form on one of the panels. “Didn’t we go through enough already? Didn’t we suffer more than enough without this added onto us?”

“ _You think I don’t realize this?”_  Hermione snapped, pushing Harry away and storming up to Ron’s side. He turned his glare onto her and she returned it with a venomous scowl. “You think I want to be holed up with  _Malfoy_ , of all people? After what I was put through? Ronald, I want nothing to do with any of this, not so directly! I wanted to say no!”

“ _THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU?!_ ” Ron roared, causing Hermione to take a step back, but it was quickly gained back as she pushed herself back against him and nearly screeched in his face.

“Because I don’t want _more blood on my hands_!”

Ron drew back, stunned. Harry had frozen with one arm outstretched, having just been about to grasp Ron’s shoulder and pull him away. Tears pearled in Hermione’s eyes, blurring Ron’s face into a smear of purple and red against a deep brown background of brick. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her robe before they could fall. Suddenly, Ron’s rage melted and he looked mollified. “’Mione …”

“I couldn’t let them go through that, alright?” she started again quietly just as other students were turning the corridor to see the commotion. “Merlin knows we  _all_  suffered in that final battle.”

Harry nodded from his position back at Hermione’s side, slightly crammed in the space between her and Ron like a shield. She could tell he was bursting to say something and had no idea why he was choosing to keep silent, but then he spoke and the words he said were entirely different than what she had been expecting. “They’re willing to try and redeem themselves and you were the playing card that decided their fate. You couldn’t take that chance away from them.”

“I couldn’t say no,” Hermione said again. This time Ron seemed to understand, and he nodded his head once. From the look Harry had on his face, he wanted to say more, causing a ping to go off in the back of her mind. Harry was rarely this silent, she’d have to find out what was holding him back when she could think properly again—whenever that would be—but for now it would have to wait. There was more at hand to deal with.

“Still think they’re a lot of bloody bastards,” Ron mumbled as they started to pull from the walls. Harry shot Ron a look just as Dean collided with him, knocking the both of them off-kilter. Seamus appeared from behind the other boy and laughed, slapping Harry on the back as Dean pulled away.

“Oof, sorry mate. Thought you were still bickering in that nook of yours, didn’t see you come out,” Dean said. “What were you arguing about, anyway?”

Harry and Hermione pulled faces of discontent while Ron’s face shifted back into one of anger, though more mild by comparison to earlier. Seamus and Dean exchanged a look.

“That bad, eh?” Seamus asked and then shrugged. “Well, so long as you’re not looking to go and throw the whole school into danger again, don’t matter to me what you do in voices that everyone can hear.”

“Within reason,” Dean pointed out. “There are some things you should keep quiet about. I don’t want to hear that going on.”

Harry’s face grew confused. “What’re you imp—”

“Thanks for your concern,” Hermione said quickly, grabbing Harry’s arm to stop him. Dean and Seamus looked sheepish, as if they’d only just realized Hermione would be in on their accusation. “We’ll just be going back to the common room now, if you don’t mind.”

At that, Seamus looked confused, but Dean seemed to realize the three had gotten so into whatever they were arguing about that they hadn’t heard McGonagall give an announcement. “We’re all to report back to the great hall,” he explained, causing the trio to exchange an alarmed look.

“Did she say why?” Harry asked. Seamus and Dean both shook their heads.

“We just follow orders,” Seamus said. “Hard to get a word in edgewise anyway with McGonagall glaring down at you.”

Dean snorted in agreement while Harry and Ron nodded. Hermione shot them a look that was lost as soon as it was given.

“See you in the hall, then,” Dean said, grabbing Seamus’ elbow and dragging him away just as the Headmistress in question rounded the corner. It was then the three realized they were the last ones lingering; the other students had left into the great hall already.

“Come on, you lot. Don’t need you three pit-pattering about the halls and causing mischief while I’m giving an announcement,” Professor McGonagall said as she came up to them. She didn’t wait for any of them to respond and walked past them, knowing they’d follow behind without doubt. They didn’t want to risk her wrath.

“This has something to do with your deal with Malfoy and her, doesn’t it?” Harry whispered to Hermione as they followed the Headmistress back to the great hall. Hermione shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled back, but she couldn’t think of what else it would be, and she had been made aware that McGonagall was going to implement something new so that Hermione’s time with Malfoy wouldn’t seem too suspicious. She wasn’t sure what McGonagall had planned exactly, but something in her gut told her it was going to throw the whole school through a loop. She pressed her arm against Harry’s as she walked, wishing Ron were closer so she could do the same on the other side, and her stomach twisted with foreshadow.

Things were about to get very different at Hogwarts, and Hermione wasn’t sure the change would be welcome.

\---

_**Draco** _

_I agree._

_I agree._

It echoed in Draco’s head over and over like a chant, reason trying to cut through his disbelief.  _I agree_ , she had said, her breathing hitching just after uttering the words.

_I, Hermione Jean Granger, agree to the terms set before me and will do all in my power to complete the task given,_  she had said as she held hands with McGonagall and his father, creating a circle between the three, then pulled her arms away and rubbed them as if she had taken an Unbreakable Vow.

Draco shook his head, trying to clear her voice away. The situation hadn’t been considered so dire to require an Unbreakable Vow, he thought nastily. His father’s life hadn’t been worth  _that_  much.

“Draco?” Pansy’s voice broke into his thoughts, and it was then he realized he had been clutching at the ends of his short hair, glaring at the table. “Are you alright?”

He looked over at her, debating on what it was he should say, when Granger and her crew broke through the doors into the Great Hall, hurrying to find a seat at their table before McGonagall began her announcement. Draco’s eyes flicked to the podium and, sure enough, the headmistress had seen the three enter. A moment later, a set of green eyes met his, and Draco quickly tried to look away, despite knowing he hadn’t been fast enough not to get caught.

“Looking sketchy already, aren’t they?” Pansy muttered, also having seen the Golden Trio flutter into the scene. “Bet they’re already up to something horrid and useless and bravely pig-headed.”

Draco grunted, unwilling to add to the conversation—not when he was part of the reason the three looked as they did. He squinted his eyes shut, waved off Goyle when he asked if Draco had a headache, and pressed his face into the palm of his hand.

“Ooh, Weasel’s giving you the stink-eye. Look at him,” Pansy said a few moments later, jostling Draco’s elbow and causing him to swat at her. He looked up to where she was gesturing and was confronted with a glare that could have killed, should Weasly have been capable of that level of magic. “You certainly got his knickers in a twist over something. What did you do, Draco?”

Well. He certainly was in on what was going on. Potter, too, from the glances he kept throwing between Weasley, Granger, and Draco himself. Granger seemed to be resolutely giving McGonagall all of her attention, her pallor clearly a few shades whiter than normal. She looked as if she were to be sick or faint on the spot.

_I agree._

“Curse the lot,” Draco muttered, turning away from the scene and placing his face back into his hand. He could feel Pansy scrutinizing him, but before she could say anything, McGonagall started up, and what she uttered sent Draco straight into his own personal hell.

How he was going to make it through this all, he had no idea. But he had no choice.

His father’s life was on the line.

\---

**Hermione**

A shocked silence enveloped the hall, wide, unbelieving eyes staring at the headmistress as she moved to pull a large goblet some seemingly nowhere. McGonagall had just informed the students that from this point forward they were to be assigned a partner at random, regardless of house, and would be required to share classes, school meals (only meals where the entirety of the school was required to attend, things like breakfast and intermittent meals were not included), and rooms with an adjoining bathroom. They were to keep this for the length of the school year, and activities staggered throughout the timeline would be given to check the legitimacy of the exercise. How the school was going to shift to accommodate the change of sleeping arrangements, Hermione wasn’t sure, but she knew she’d find out shortly.

“It’s a test from the ministry,” McGonagall had lied effortlessly, her tone clipped and giving no reason for argument at her gape-mouthed students. To complete the lie, she waved her hand, and all banners that depicted the house crests had formed into the school’s, further enforcing the fact they would be housed as one. Their robes had not changed, however, and Hermione assumed they would be kept. “They wish to see how young witches and wizards such as you react to a forced environment, and Hogwarts was the best place to test this.”

If possible, the students only looked further stunned at what was being put on them. Hermione sympathized, especially since the entire school now had to suffer for the sake of one life, but at least they didn’t have to spend every waking moment with their partners, she rationalized. She knew it was a weak point no matter the positivity intended behind it.

She glanced over once in Malfoy’s direction after the announcement had been given, but he was seated with his arm up to her, hiding his face, and she couldn’t see his expression. Did he feel even an ounce of guilt over the havoc and stress he was causing among his fellow classmates?

_Probably not_ , Hermione thought glumly to herself.  _He probably thinks he’s owed it or something._

“Please tell me I heard her wrong,” Hermione heard someone at another table whisper in horror, finally breaking through the silence. Instantly, more voices joined in, creating a soft buzz in the hall.

“She’s gone bloody mad, hasn’t she.”

“She’s always been mad!”

“What if I get stuck with a Slytherin? I can’t last with a Slytherin!”

“This can’t be right,” a voice spoke up from Ravenclaw over the continued murmur that started up like a growing wave, students from each table looking at one another and trying to figure out what was going on. “This is a joke, right? You can’t honestly be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am as serious as can be, Mr. Steele,” McGonagall answered calmly. She set the goblet square on a pedestal to her right. It gleamed rainbows in the candlelight, hues of red, green, blue, and yellow casting colored shadows across her jade-green robes. With a flick of her wrist, the light scattered further, and she took a step back. “This is no joking matter.”

“But—!”

“If you please,” McGonagall cut him off, ceasing conversation immediately, “remain silent as I read off the names of the pairings. Once each name of a pairing has been revealed, each pair must meet in front of the goblet and shake hands, then be seated together for further instruction.”

Noises of protest erupted from the students and were hushed with another motion of McGonagall’s hand. Anger rolled off the tables in waves, but no one said a word further.

“Thank you. I will now begin the readings.”


	3. The Sorting

**Hermione**

_Well_ , Hermione thought to herself as she walked from a hall filled with disgruntled, stunned Hogwarts students; her fellow housemates being rounded up behind her as she fled the scene, moments away from being on her tail so they could find their way to their new sleeping quarters.  _That could have probably gone worse_.

Some of the students had been happy with their arrangements; the scant few having actually been paired up with a close friend of theirs that had belonged to another house (such as Harry, whom had been paired, much to the rest of their group’s disparity, with Luna) being the deviation from the mass. The rest of them—Ron, Hermione herself, Ginny and Dean and many others—had been less than enthused with the person they had been, pardon the crude term, forcibly shacked up with for the entirety of the school term.

Of all the names read off, her pairing with Malfoy had been the only one to silence the entirety of the hall. Hermione cringed slightly at the memory of what had happened mere minutes before her hasty departure of the hall, knowing she’d be back in Malfoy’s presence in no time and wanting a few moments to steel herself. She pressed herself against the wall, watching her housemates gather and wait, knowing she’d have to follow them to her—and their—new sleeping quarters.

What had happened already was more than enough for the day, and she didn’t want people coming up to her now that the whole school knew she had been paired with her best friend’s—and hers, on occasion—lesser arch enemy. (With Voldemort, of course, having been the original.)

Her memory rang once again with her name being called after McGonagall pulled her slip from the goblet, the voice sounding it clear and the hand that had been in hers—Ginny’s—clutching tighter, unknowingly blind to the information Hermione had already been prepared for. Of all the gasping voices that echoed through the hall, Ginny’s had been the most furious.

“And … Draco Malfoy, of Slytherin,” McGonagall had said, pulling the slip from the goblet directly after Hemione’s, making the already solidified deal that much more real for her now that it was real for everyone else, too.

The silence in the room had chilled her to the bone. Dozens upon dozens of eyes had turned on her, far fewer turning onto Malfoy, before they switched targets and the fewer were on her instead, trying to gauge each of their reactions, some with expressions of curiosity and some of horror and sympathy. She didn’t have much trouble looking as if this pairing had come to a surprise to her, as the blood had drained from her face all over again at the look of shock and rage on Ginny’s face when she turned around to gauge Hermione’s own reaction.

“They can’t do this,” Ginny had whispered in the fiercest hiss Hermione had ever heard her use. She had started to stand, but Hermione held her back down with a desperate vice-grip on her wrist, her other hand coming up to pleadingly clutch at her shoulder. Ginny’s furious gaze snapped back to meet Hermione in question, confused and hurt on her behalf, but Hermione shook her head and Ginny sat back down, eyes blazing. “They can’t bloody do this to you, Hermione. Of all the people, they can’t place you with  _him_.”

She heard Ron mumble something from her other side as she stood to go shake Malfoy’s hand, saw the whites of Harry’s knuckles as he gripped the table, his mouth set in a grim line as he watched Ginny fume. Neville looked as if he were going to faint, his eyes wide and stricken.

She had never felt more grateful for her choice in friends as she did in that moment. She wished she had had the time to inform Ginny, in the very least, of the arrangement beforehand, like she had Harry and Ron. She’d have to make up for that later. Ginny deserved that much.

“This is the point of the exercise,” McGonagall had told them in response to the surge of anger that followed shortly after reading off the very last set of names in the goblet, waving it away into thin air with a flick of her wrist before continuing. “You must learn to live with your partner, regardless of your differences. Should you come out of this with no more friendship between you than when you started, so be it. But the exercise will happen, and the results we get will be sent back to the Ministry. Now,” she clapped her hands twice, and each professor stood, took out their wands, and conjured up a patronus, “please split into your respective house groups and follow the creature assigned to you, they will help you find your rooms. That is all.”

“That could have gone better,” Harry mumbled as he came up beside Hermione, Ron in tow and Neville with Ginny coming up a moment later. Neville’s pairing with a Hufflepuff had lifted his mood from what it had been earlier, but he still shot Hermione a pitying look when he noticed her. The same could not be said for Ron, who had also been paired with a Hufflepuff.

“Couldn’t they have least used a cup with some sort of matching enchantment on it, or something? The hell am I supposed to do with a Hufflepuff for a roommate? Cook?” he muttered, glancing over at the gathering of Hufflepuffs near the staircases. “Sing? What do Hufflepuffs actually  _do_  with their time?”

“You know, Ron, I hear many Hufflepuffs know ways to get special desserts and such from the house elves. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to reject them,” Ginny told him, though she sounded more like she just wanted to shut her brother up than she actually wanted to make the pairing more likable for him. All the same, he looked like he hadn’t thought of this before, and was suddenly much happier about going up to his new rooms. The rest of the crew remained sullen as their patronus guides rounded them into the rest of the Gryffindors and started them up one of the staircases to find their rooms.

\---

**Draco**

Pansy was prepared to spit fire.

“How dare they pair us up with those loathsome Gyffindors! They’re doing this on purpose,” she screeched, her slender hands clutching the long sleeves of her robe hard enough to whiten her knuckles against the stark background of the black cloth. You could practically see the steam coming from her ears, she was so angry. “And you, Draco!” she hissed, rounding on the sleek boy. He merely gave her a miserable look, unable to contribute much to the conversation. She continued on, unperturbed by this lack of enthusiasm or anger, “One of the  _Golden Trio_. That witch, of all the people in the school you could paired you with, that nasty soup cup chose  _her_!”

When Draco continued to refuse commentary, she rounded the other way, onto the unsuspecting Goyle and the simmering Blaise. “How can you be okay with this, you two? You’re supposed to be his friends!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Parkinson,” Blaise spat back, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Maybe I’m just a little too caught up on the fact I also got paired with a bloody Gryffindor. A Weasley, of all the choices! I would have taken Granger over her any day, at least I’d be able to wake up knowing I’d still have all six of my limbs each day! That Weasel girl is too liberal with her hexes, there’s no way I’ll make it through the year.”

“Oh, sod off Zabini, she’d leave you alone if you didn’t provoke her,” Pansy spat back.

“Brilliant coming from you, you make a game out of it!”

“How dare you turn this around, when I’m trying to find a way to ease this off of poor Draco—”

“Ease it off? You’re bitching up a storm, which is doing nothing but—”

They continued to bicker, but Draco tuned them out, sticking his wand and opposing finger into each ear and glaring past them to settle onto something else, which happened to be Goyle. He stood behind the two, watching them and looking distinctly lost in more than just the argument that was happening in front of him. Draco suddenly wondered if Goyle didn’t have the worst end of the skrewt between the four of them, as he had been paired with a Ravenclaw and didn’t have enough brain cells himself to fill a teaspoon. It’s possible that it was the Ravenclaw whom actually did, but being Goyle’s friend (in some sense of the word, as “lackey” didn’t really fit what Goyle was to him now that all of that was behind him without Crabbe to complete the set) had its perks, and he felt Goyle would have it worse trying to understand the Ravenclaw than the Ravenclaw would have trying to explain things to him. Merlin knows Draco knew what it was like attempting to explain even the simplest of game plans to the brute; the Ravenclaw certainly had their work cut out for them, but he’d back Goyle before he’d bother doing anything of the sort for the Ravenclaw.

“And I certainly don’t think—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t believe I even gave a ruddy ballsack about what you think—”

Okay, that was it. It was getting old now, the yelling that was getting nowhere, and they were being pestered to get moving anyway. No more of that.

“Would you two  _shut up already_?!” Draco spat forcefully, causing the both of them to cease the verbal abuse and resort to glaring fiercely at one another. “We all clearly got horrid choices, being most of us even got a Gryffindor in the first place, but, short of dropping out of this blasted school, there’s nothing we can do! Yes,  _yes_ , I see you! We’re coming!” he directed onto the silvery creature that was trying to get his attention and round the lot of them into the rest of their group. Looking about as offended as a spelled animal can, it flicked its head at Draco once and returned to the rest of the group that it was to lead the up the staircase, directly behind the group of Hufflepuffs.

“Come on,” Draco said unhappily, not bothering to look back at Pansy, Goyle, and Blaise before he joined the other Slytherins. “Let’s get this over with.”

\---

**Hermione**

Turns out, all the school had to do in order to accommodate the new housing that would be required for the turn of events—the newly added eighth year students included in this equation—was add an entirely new corridor to the third floor, one that had not been there previously and, with the turn of a staircase, ceased to exist completely at some times of the day. It was one of the kinks they had apparently been unable to work around, the patronuses had told many of them in the voice of their respective casters. The way the corridor had been set up was intricate and interesting, and Hermione marveled at the work of imagination it must have taken to create something like this.

From the landing, unconnected to any other part of the floor, various hallways and minor staircases (the unmoving kind) forked and spiraled in varying directions, some going deep down into the workings of the castle and others up, while some of the hallways simply went straight for seemingly forever and others turned corners to disappear completely.

“A bit like being a first year all over again, eh?” Ron said, more wonderingly than grumpily as he turned his head this way and that. Hermione couldn’t help but agree. The Gryffindors followed their paronus guides into the corridor and past the first few staircases, then stopped at a hallway that curved so sharply to the right that Hermione almost wondered if it made a circle of itself somewhere.

“Weasley, Ginny?” the soft voice of a professor Hermione couldn’t identify echoed out of one of the patronuses, the elegant owl that had perched itself on Harry’s shoulder (much to his disgruntlement) to speak. Ginny stepped forward, and the owl nodded its silvery head at her. “Follow me.”

The owl lifted from Harry’s shoulder, knocking his glasses askew, and took off down the hall. Unsmiling, Ginny paused to whisper something to Harry as he righted himself, to which he only nodded once. Then, she was off, and the second patronus was leading them away again.

\---

**Draco**

Thank Merlin, they didn’t have to share a room.

Though he had mostly doubted they would make them room together, the fear of having to bunk with Granger had lingered in Draco’s mind the moment he had been told he would not be staying in the Slytherin dungeons and would instead have to be housed with his– ... with Granger. They’d have to share a password to get into the set of rooms, he’d been told by the hog who had led him here, and a small common room where the fire would be kept, but they would not have to sleep in the same room, and would made to create their own passwords upon reaching the doorways to their rooms. The relief was minor, though, and it was engulfed by annoyance the moment he’d uttered their shared password (“pumpkin pasty”) and stepped into what was to be their common area.

It looked nothing like the Slytherin common room he had come to love. He truthfully did not know what the Gryffindor common rooms looked like, but the way this common room had been set up—two armchairs before a cold stone hearth in shades of brown and grey florals, a small work table with two chairs shoved under it to the left and a loveseat on the right in the same pattern as the armchairs, everything lit by an overhanging chandelier—was a far cry from the dark, cool rooms of the dungeons.

Draco hated it.

Thankfully, his actual room had proved to be much, much better.

After figuring out that his room was the door on the left, the one on the other side of the wall from the table with the snake carved on it, he took a moment to set in the password he’d be using (“bollocks”—because that’s what this was) and then entered through the door to find a smaller version of the rooms he had grown up in while at Hogwarts. The room may have only been large enough to house the single bed and trunk it contained, but the familiarity of the dungeon walls and the green and silver décor made him feel much better about the situation.

In fact, he debated never leaving this room. To hell with the agreement and his mother’s wish for his education to be completed. He was infinitely more comfortable staying here and waiting for the end.

Only, he knew he couldn’t do that. Too much rested on his shoulders; he felt the pressure of responsibility churning in his stomach and constricting his chest, not unlike the way it had before when—

Draco clutched the robes over his torso and told himself to shut up. This wasn’t the same; there were other things at stake, but he had help this time.

Sure, it was in the form of the last person on Earth he wanted to deal with, but it was something. And he’d have to focus on that fact for now. It mattered far too much for him to turn a blind eye to it and pretend it wasn’t happening. He needed to be involved, be a part of what was now happening to him, regardless of what  _he_  wanted.

He had no other choice.

\---

**Hermione**

Hermione couldn’t sleep.

In her head, she chastised herself; told herself that this was no way to prepare her mind and body for a return to magic classes almost two years after the last time she had stepped foot in a Hogwarts classroom for an actual education, rather than what she had been in Hogwarts for during her last visit.

Hermione needed sleep, was the point. She screwed her eyes shut and took deep breaths, willed mind to slow down and settle, to allow itself to drift off into at least a light slumber of some sort. Something. Anything resembling it, really.

But nothing happened. She lay stubbornly awake in her bedchamber, staring up at the richly decorated walls and ceiling that surrounded her, all lush with vibrant red and gold paraphernalia, lest she forget what house her heart truly belonged to.

_Likely that would happen_ , she thought bitterly.

She huffed stubbornly to herself and rolled over again, pulling her bedsheets up over her head in an attempt to block out any light that she knew wasn’t adding to her sleeplessness – and then promptly fell out of bed with a screech when a sudden voice cleared its throat, her wand instantly in her hand and pointing at … a decorative banner of a lion?

What?

“If you don’t mind, dear,” the voice that had cleared its throat sounded, once again, from what she realized was behind the banner. Wand still pointed and a hex at the ready, Hermione carefully got to her feet and crept towards the banner, peeling it back slowly to reveal—something. She couldn’t see; It was too dark.

“ _Lumos_ is the one you’ll be wanting, that,” the voice supplied unhelpfully, its tone low and somewhat posh-sounding, distinctly male. A shadow shifted, but Hermione didn’t jump to the action, realizing suddenly that it was nothing more than a painting that had escaped her notice the first time she had scanned the room. Due to the banner, of course.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she mumbled, a little disgruntled, and her wand tip lit up just enough to bring the occupant of the painting into shadow and light. He shied away from the light at first, a robed arm thrown over his face as if he hadn’t been expecting it, but lowered the arm a moment later and, with the face that emerged, scrutinized Hermione from the other side of her wand.

“Ah, very good. You didn’t try to blast me out of my frame. Job well done, you,” the man said, nodding his head once in a short, smooth motion, causing he feather in his round hat to bob. “The boy next door nearly did so, couldn’t get a word in to calm him down enough at first until he thought of the spell himself! Twitchy little Slytherin, that one. Isn’t he?”

“Uh, yes, um,” Hermione gave in reply, much to the man’s obvious disdain that she was not enthusiastically agreeing with him. She hadn’t heard a single noise of spell-casting from her side of the corridor. Did their rooms have some sort of sound-blocking enchantment cast over them? That seemed … off, but much of Hogwarts seemed to be as well. She decided not to dwell on it at the moment, more because the man seemed to be waiting for an answer from her than anything else. She frowned. “Erm, I’m sorry, but. Who are you, and why is your painting stationed behind this banner in my bedchamber? And in Malfoy’s, for that matter.”

“Communication,” the man replied shortly, simply. It was obvious he had not signed up for whatever job this was exactly, but was, like many of the paintings in Hogwarts, willing to do his share to help the school every odd century or so. “Ah, and decoration error, but that much was obvious. You’ll find a third of my portraits in the Headmistress’s office for the time being, to allow me to reach her quickly should an emergency pop up. Uncovered, I might add.”

“An emergency,” Hermione repeated, unsure. What kind of emergency could possibly happen in either of their bedchambers, especially when they were charmed against allowing outsiders in without the appropriate password?

“Yes, quite right.”

“And you have a portrait in Malfoy’s room as well?”

“I do, also behind a ruddy banner. Neither of your houses consist of colors that match my complexion. A grave error to my person, I must say, as I usually look quite fantastic in most shades.” He took a moment to eye the banner in question with a look that was less than flattering. Hermione found herself unsurprised that Malfoy’s room would be decorated according to his own house, she assumed all of the student’s quarters would mimic this. “I suppose there’s nothing that could be done about that. Alas …” he trailed off, looking mournful.

Hermione cleared her throat. “And, your name, sir?”

“Ah, very good, you’ve got that right.” And then, with a little more flourish than Hermione would have expected, he took off his hat and bowed at her. “Sir Mortimer McKinsey, at your service.”

Hermione couldn’t help but stare, her wand clutched loosely at her side and her mouth turned down in a mild frown at the painting of the man before her. She wasn’t sure what this all meant, but it seemed she’d have no control over the matter, and would have no choice but to bear his presence until she could have a word with McGonagall about this.

Sir Mortimer McKinsey.

At her service, indeed.

\---

**Draco**

Draco couldn’t sleep.

He supposed he could, if he had tried, but with the way the day’s events had unfolded, trying wasn’t something he could bring himself to do, despite the ever-growing lateness hour.

Never mind the fact he had been startled out of his wits mere moments ago and now found himself kneeling on the floor in front of a gently smoldering silken banner depicting a silver snake.

That possibly had something to do with it, though he doubted it would have mattered had the occupant of the painting—he now realized it was nothing more than an actual painting, though his heart was still threatening to burst out of his pajamas and his wand was still clutched in his sweaty grip like a lifeline—not chosen to alert Draco of their presence by asking him to stop tapping his wand “so incessantly against every blessed surface and muttering like a cracked knut, for Merlin’s sake”, like he had been as a precautionary measure. He realized this was Hogwarts, the safest place in Wizarding Europe, but that it was also Hogwarts, where the final battle had taken place and the Dark Lord had been slain.

Funny how those two titles didn’t really coincide easily, despite the fact both were heavily claimed to be absolutely true.

Draco didn’t take his chances. It was because of this that the painting’s occupant had made a snippy comment at Draco’s quick-check measures and he had responded by panicking and hexing his decorative banner into flames, only realizing after a good chunk of the banner had turned to ash that it had been concealing said painting, which now stood empty where it hung.

Whoever had been there previously, they were probably reporting him to McGonagall now.

Whatever. No one had warned Draco that it would be there, and he didn’t see why it had to be hung in his room anyway. Right across from his bed, he might add.

When he had managed to stop breathing irregularly and could feel his heart pulse at a more normal rate, Draco picked himself up off of the floor and dusted off his pajamas with his free hand, peering suspiciously at the banner once again before giving it a sharp huff. Relaxing his death-grip on his wand, he set it down on his bed long enough to strip a pillow of its pillowcase and throw it over the part of the painting that now peeked through its emerald covering. When it didn’t stay, he added in a sticking charm, then ran a hand through his hair in annoyance at what would probably be a few sharp words, if not a lecture, that he’d be receiving tomorrow in return for his hasty actions.

This really wasn’t what he had been expecting when his parents had begged him to return to Hogwarts for his eight year.

Restraining the urge to hex something in his room, Draco pocketed his wand and located his slippers, shoving them on with only slightly jerky movements and a smidgen of leftover jitters from being caught unaware. He still needed to finish checking his room, he knew, but for the moment he just wanted to get out. The previous restrictions to being outside the common room during the night most likely still applied to non-Prefects or Head Boy and Girl, but he honestly didn’t give a damn. Draco would deal with whomever decided to stop him in the hall if he were caught.

All the same, he hesitated at his door. He couldn’t sleep, and he really didn’t want to stay, but did he really want to potentially face McGonagall yet again tonight?

He gave it a moment, and then told himself to shut up and open his door to exit the room, only to find the hearth lit with a fire.

\---

**Hermione**

Hermione’s head snapped up from her reading the moment she heard a door opening, her eyes settling on a figure in Malfoy’s doorway—Malfoy himself, clad in a set of black pajamas and looking distinctly distraught as he stood in the frame, his hand still on his door.

They kept eye contact for a beat, Hermione’s mouth open slightly despite her brain’s inability to think of anything worth saying, then Malfoy slammed the door shut behind him and crossed the common area to the main door to exit, leaving Hermione to herself once again. She continued to watch the door even after Malfoy had been gone, wondering what it was he could possibly be up to a day into their return, but couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. He’d get stopped by a professor, and she was no longer a Prefect, nor a Head Girl.

It was, technically, none of her business, and she was done shoving her nose where it didn’t belong.


	4. The Struggle

**Hermione**

Even with the lack of designated tables, the first breakfast that followed the Welcome Feast was far less chaotic than expected. Hermione chalked that up to the lax seating rules that had been in place previously, whereas Luna took it as a sign everyone was already enjoying the newfound freedom, and floated happily to her seat next to her Gryffindor friends. They shifted around to make room for her without much more than a glance, though Harry looked momentarily startled when she sat to his left, between him and Ron. He quickly recovered, however, and went back to his pumpkin juice with the same glazed morning look he had been portraying moments earlier. Luna didn’t seem to notice any lack of enthusiasm on his part.

“Ah, look, Ron!” she said wistfully, pointing at a passing Hufflepuff. Ron glanced up, then adopted a sour expression and returned to shoveling eggs into his mouth as Luna continued on. “There’s your partner! Don’t you think you should ask him to join us? I’m here, after all, and I’m not a Gryffindor.”

“You sit here all the time,” Ron fired back grumpily, sinking lower into his seat on the bench. Ginny leaned past Harry to shoot her brother a look of disdain for his attitude.

“Yes, but we’re supposed to be mingling. Right, Harry?” Luna turned to her designated partner in question, who, only having just tuned in on the conversation, granted her a “Whu?” and a confused look as an answer. Luna continued on all the same. “It’s the point of everything, and we must try if we wish to meet the standards.”

Ron shook his head. “Let him sit where he wants, poor bloke has to be stuck to me all other times of the day. And—Merlin, what’s this now?” Ron’s voice rose a few octaves in annoyance as he leaned away from an oncoming intrusion in the form of paper. “Our schedules? I’ve barely even had my morning pumpkin juice!”

Reaching her arm up, Hermione accepted her enchanted paper bird as it fluttered down in front of her; the others miming her and tearing into their new schedules, Ron with significantly less interest than the others, which was saying something as the others weren’t too keen on looking into the rest of their year when so much had already been dumped on them before classes had actually had a chance to begin.

Hermione herself felt the most excitement. Being 8th years allowed them to take whatever they pleased based on their previous N.E.W.T.s, much like 7th year, but also allowed classes in the name of extracurriculars for those not looking to suit their job path—an option not allowed to 7th years. Already having a career path in mind, Hermione signed up for what she knew she’d need and kept the extra slots for classes she simply had enjoyed. That, as it turned out, had been one of her bigger mistakes.

“Potions,” she whispered into her parchment, causing Ginny to perk up and crane to look. “I have potions, first in the morning. Look.”

Ginny leaned in and tipped the paper back to read the text upside down, then frowned. “With Slytherin. Ghastly turn of events, do you want me to send a nice hex towards our slimy ferret friend before we depart, Hermione?” Ginny drew out her wand, raising an eyebrow. “Give him a fair warning not to give you unnecessary hell? By my definition, of course.”

“That’s quite alright, Ginny,” Hermione answered hastily, gently lowering her friend’s hand, much to Ginny’s disappointment. “I can handle whatever it is he might have in store for me. I doubt McGonagall would have allowed the pairing if she didn’t also think so.”

“Fair point,” Ginny agreed shortly, though she didn’t look happy about it.

“What on earth made you sign up for potions as an optional class,” Harry asked incredulously, though his paper too showed he had potions this morning, with many of his classes matching up with Hermione’s—though not as many as with Ron’s, much to their delight.  “You don’t even want to be an Auror, or anything of the like.”

Luna lifted hers up beside Harry’s and peered at the two curiously. “Ah, seems we have very different schedules, Harry. We’ll have to do most of our hanging out outside of class, it seems. A bit strange to pair people up from different years, don’t you think? Some have an advantage over the others now.”

“Something tells me that won’t be an issue in a lot of cases,” Ginny said, knowing her own partner was in a different year than her. “I doubt Malfoy will be much of a pleasure on any day, much less the ones you actually have class with him.”

“Judging from this,” Ron started, pointing at Hermione’s schedule with a sticky spoon he had procured from his heaping plate of pudding, “you’ll likely to have quite a few. Why are we paired up with Slytherins in class so often? Has anyone ever actually questioned that?”

“S’not that often,” Harry replied—and he was right. A few more classes had a tendency to be shared with Slytherins, sure, but it wasn’t much more than they had with Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws—or sometimes all three together, if there weren’t many students taking it. “Just happens to be worse this time around thanks to all this partner rubbish thrown in. At least we’ll be there with you, right, Hermione?”

“If I had known about this, I would have taken up Muggle Studies again,” Hermione mumbled into her toast before taking a bite, hoping her day would go better than it seemed like it would.

\---

**Draco**

Unfortunately, that would not be the case. Draco did indeed have potions that first class with The Golden Trio, and, to make matters worse, Slughorn had forced those who had partners in class to sit with said partners, claiming it to be one of the rules of the event.

Draco hadn’t verbally protested like quite a few others had—Pansy and Dean Thomas had both been quick to do so, and had shared a very heated glare upon realizing it before being forced to share a potions bench—but he had dutifully ignored Granger when she sat down, glowering into his potions book while she shuffled her things around unnecessarily. She, thankfully, ignored him back, and they sat on their bench together in front of a single cauldron, him glaring at the too-jovial professor and her … well, doing whatever it was know-it-alls do when they’re particularly ticked at a teacher. Draco wasn’t paying attention, nor did he really care.

“Now,” Slughorn announced, signaling he had finished his introductory instructions and was ready for the hands-on part of class. “Each of you, divide the instructions, preferably in the order I had designated, and get started on your brewing. I’ll be checking up on you periodically to make sure you’re all on the right track.” He clapped his hands together loudly. “Begin!”

Draco cursed under his breath—he hadn’t paid attention to a word the professor had said, and, from the sour and slightly confused look Granger was sending him, something Slughorn had said had to do with Draco’s part of this exercise.

Well, bullocks. Potions was his strongest class, even without the help of Professor Snape; he could manage this.

Standing up from his bench, Draco flipped open his potions book without a word, stopping when he reached the page that looked similar to the one Granger had already opened to. It first called for finely sliced lacewing flies, and, seeing as how Granger wasn’t making a single move from the bench herself—but the others were now moving and slicing their own ingredients—he assumed this was the first part of what he was supposed to do. He grabbed the lacewings and began to measure them, Granger looking on as he did so.

When she continued not to move even as he began slicing his lacewings, Draco decided maybe he should figure out what was going on in her head—and why she was still giving him a look.

“Are you bound by a jinx, Granger?” he hissed at her, not giving her a glance while he focused on his slicing. “You can’t honestly expect me to do all of the work.”

That got her. Just as he dared a look, Granger’s back had straightened instantly and her complexion flushed red with annoyance. “We were supposed to discuss which ingredients to substitute before dividing the instructions,” said Granger, now standing up from the bench and pointing to the bottom section of the instructions—something Draco hadn’t looked at before starting. He stopped slicing and glared at her angrily.

“You didn’t think to tell me this before I started?”

“I had assumed you were listening to the professor when he told us exactly that,” she spat back, flinging a hand out towards said professor, who was leaning over the cauldron Harry and Ron were sharing with an expression of distinct confusion at the lime green smoke it was already emitting. “Or is it too engrained in your mind not to pay the professor any attention when you’ll just be given top marks either way?” It was Draco’s turn to flush, though he tried not to.

“You don’t know anything about that, you filthy—”

“Oh, must we always insult my lack of pedigree?” she shot at him, cutting him off with a tone of disdain and mocking. “We’re all shockingly aware of how much you loathe having to be in the same room as someone who was born to a Muggle family, Malfoy. Leave it be!”

And then, with a fairly aggressive shove, she sent half of the ingredients listed in the recipe over to Draco’s side of the cauldron and started working on her own, leaving Draco to seethe in silence over his half-chopped lacewings. It wasn’t until Slughorn rounded on their cauldron and told them they’d best get moving if they didn’t want to come back later in the day to finish that Draco picked up his knife and took to cutting them up again.

They didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the class, yet somehow they managed to make a decent fainting draught at the end of it. Once it had been tested on a particularly unfortunate toad that passed right out the moment the dropper was emptied into his mouth, Draco packed his bag and fled the scene before Slughorn had even managed to give him a pat on the back for a job well done. He hadn’t wanted to stay there a moment longer than he needed to.

Luckily, he told himself, didn’t have classes with Granger for the rest of the day—and if he were luckier still, he wouldn’t have to see her until the next day, in Care of Magical Creatures.

Unfortunately for Draco, no one was _that_ lucky.

\---

**Hermione**

“I’m honestly surprised they’re allowing us to continue Quidditch while this whole nightmare is going on,” said Ginny as she stuffed her bag into one of the shelves adorning the wall and picked her broom up, tapping the bristles against the heel of her boot. Hermione made a noise of agreement, then turned the page of her Arithmancy text without looking up, face set in a look of light concentration. Ginny echoed the noise with a snort and pulled her hair up. “The whole mess clearly hasn’t affected your work ethic. I suppose even an agreement with a nasty weasel such as Malfoy can’t deter you from your one true love?”

“Hardly fair, Ginny,” said a new voice, and Harry entered the scene in his old Quidditch clothes. “I’d want a good distraction myself if I were in Hermione’s position. _I’m_ surprised she’s not half-buried under a pile of books at the library in hiding.”

Harry and Ginny shared a laugh, Hermione snapped her book shut and rolled her eyes. “ _She_ isn’t using schoolwork as a distraction, she’s trying to get ahead in case _someone_ ends up needing her help in classes and takes up what time she will have to hang out with them,” Hermione said, giving Harry a meaningful look. Harry answered it with a bashful smile.

“You obviously mean Ron.”

“You’re not completely wrong,” Hermione agreed, slipping off of the chair she’d been sat on and sliding her book into her bag. “I’ll be watching. Try not to knock yourself out in excitement before tryouts even begin.”

“No promises!” Harry echoed cheerfully as Hermione left the room. Spotting Luna’s cloud of hair in the pews, Hermione began to make her way towards the steps to join her, but she didn’t make it far onto the pitch when another figure appeared, and a sudden feeling of de-ja vu overcame her.

From the look on Malfoy’s face as he caught sight of her, he was feeling something of the same. And he clearly didn’t like it.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, loud enough for Hermione to hear even from her distance. She didn’t stop walking, but she did slow and give him her attention, aware he was looking directly at her with a scowl. Blaise Zabini stood beside him, looking lanky and almost out-of-place in his pristine uniform, a school-borrowed broom in his hand and a Ministry-ordered tracking band peeking out from the cuff of his shirt. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him on the Quidditch field before. “It’s the first bloody day back, they can’t have reserved the pitch already.”

Hermione stopped and peered at Malfoy with a frown. He glowered back at her, his grip on his broom tight and white-knuckled. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to correct him, but she also didn’t want him going back to a professor and complaining about false information, especially when it could possibly take actual reserved time away from the players. She sighed.

“It’s not reserved, Malfoy,” she said finally, and both Malfoy and Zabini almost looked surprised that she was bothering to correct them. “The Hufflepuffs are out there, too. They’re just playing a game of it for fun. No one has tryouts for positions until at least next week, you know the rules.”

Malfoy’s frown deepened and he looked over at Zabini, who mirrored his expression and shrugged, muttering, “This whole getting-along business must have already affected the weakest-minded. Think we’re all some sort of brothership now.”

Annoyed, Hermione cleared her throat and brought the attention of both boys back onto her. “Some of us are just trying to make the best of a clearly atrocious situation,” she told them both. “Don’t spoil it.” And then, without waiting for any reaction, she departed the scene with her hair flying out behind her.

\---

**Draco**

The annoyance of the encounter had followed Draco throughout the rest of the day, and he thanked the wisest wizards out there that he didn’t have to see her again for the rest of his classes, unsure if he would have even bothered to stay for them if he had.

“ _Don’t spoil it_ ,” she had told him, and he crunched the bit of parchment he’d been doodling on in growing irritation as her tone echoed through his head yet again. Who did she think she was, telling him off like that? He hadn’t gone to the field knowing who would be there—he had assumed no one would, it was the very first day back and most students spent it catching up in the corridors between classes or at lunch; he thought he’d have it to himself, at least for that single day. He hadn’t thought to check the hall for the other Quidditch players, which he now realized probably would have been the smarter thing to do.

What bothered him the most about this whole ordeal was that he had _listened_ to her. Instead of barging into the pitch and making a big deal about the annoyingly excited members of both the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams pre-tryouts, he had grabbed Blaise’s sleeve and dragged him back to the castle—much to Blaise’s discrepancy. He’d clearly wanted a say in the matter himself, despite not being much of a Quidditch player, or even being there to do more than toss a Quaffle around while Draco tried to get back into the groove of playing.

Draco found it as a moment of weakness, a lack of want for confrontation in the moment, and it frustrated him immensely. He was unsure of why he had done it.

Class was released, and the shuffling of students around him broke Draco from his thoughts. He stuffed his crumpled parchment into his satchel and pushed away from his desk, rapidly trying to decide if he wanted to bother with dinner that night or hide away in his room instead—and then scowled at himself. Granger was in this ordeal to help him, and she did have a certain amount of power over him with his father’s life on the line, but he’d be damned to Azkaban and back if he was going to allow her to intimidate him into sulking away in his room with his homework and that wretched painting to keep him company. And all over a single encounter that he had been stupid enough to back away from?

That was not going to happen.

Gripping the strap of his bag tightly, he headed for the Great Hall and met Pansy outside, nodding wordlessly when she greeted him and then started gesturing and talking angrily about Dean Thomas and her continued encounters with him as the day had progressed from Potions that morning. He’d only been half paying attention, his eyes roaming the now-chaotic hall of mixed students as he tried to pinpoint Granger. To his surprise and—even more surprisingly—slight disappointment, she was absent from the area. Potter, Longbottom and the Weasels were seated at their table, chatting and eating, but she was nowhere to be found. Pansy, oblivious to his sudden dismay, continued on. Together, him still searching the obviously Granger-free hall and her angrily recounting an earlier class gone sour thanks to her partner, they found a bench that seemed to have unanimously become Slytherin-only and settled down into the empty spots.

As Draco loaded up his dinner plate, his mind began to whir with ideas of where Granger might have gone off to, thinking maybe that it was a good thing he hadn’t thought to go back to his room instead of facing dinner, as he might have run into her again. Since both Potter and Weasley were present in the hall, it meant she probably wasn’t getting herself into the type of trouble the three were notorious for, but a small part of his mind decided to reserve judgement until that could be confirmed. It might have only been the first day, but little seemed to stop those three from sniffing out plenty of situations where they weren’t wanted.

Case in point, this whole ordeal. Though, that, at least, was mutual on both Granger and Draco’s sides.

“Mate, I really don’t think that’s a wise decision,” a voice cut into his thoughts, and Draco blinked back to the present state to find Blaise smirking at him from across the table. Confused, Draco lowered his fork back down to his plate, but stopped himself from questioning what it was Blaise was talking about when the motion awarded him a nod of approval from said wizard. Draco looked down, and then scrunched his face in disgust.

“Eugh,” he muttered, dropping his fork completely. The salamander eggs that had been gracing the lump of potatoes he had stuck to the tines scattered across his plate. “Where the hell did these come from?”

Blaise raised his hands up in defense. “Wasn’t me. I think we all know who’s most likely to summon something like that into your dinner.”

“She isn’t here,” Draco replied in annoyance, shaking his hand in the air. Blaise looked confused, then raised both his eyebrows in amusement a moment later.

“Are you talking about Granger?” he asked, laughing. “I was talking about the Weasley girl. She’s already tried to pull a few ones on me, I thought maybe she’d misfired and hit your dinner instead of mine. How do you know she isn’t here? Have you checked?”

“He’s right, she isn’t here,” Pansy confirmed before Draco could say anything, settling back down from her perch atop the table’s edge as she scanned around the hall for Granger. She looked annoyed. “And her friends don’t look too perturbed about the fact, which means you didn’t cause it, did you, Draco?”

“ _Which means_ he must have been looking for her when you two entered,” Blaise added, looking a little disgusted underneath his amusement. “Merlin, Malfoy, are you already starting to fancy her? Maybe Weasley did get to you. Should we send him up to the hospital wing?”

Draco clamped his mouth shut, sharp annoyance at the two of them—and at Granger—bubbling up. Blaise only looked more amused at Draco’s obvious lack of willingness to comment on the matter, which, in turn, caused Pansy’s expression to grow severe.

“Can’t you leave him alone, Zabini?”

“I’m only looking out for his health and sanity!”

“You’re making it worse—look at him, he’s—Draco?”

But Draco ignored Pany’s questioning tone as he retreated from the hall, unwilling to deal with any more of what his friends were currently bickering about at his expense. He’d fare better alone in his own room, he decided, and that is where he went, bracing himself to properly ignore Granger in full when he found her in the common area.

Except, she wasn’t there when he entered the room, and he allowed himself to push the thought of where she _could_ be aside this time and instead threw himself into his homework for the rest of the night, knowing he’d only have to face her the next day when Care of Magical Creatures came about. The better half of that next day he spent preparing himself for the afternoon class, only to be granted reprieve in the form of choosing someone to work with himself on their first project of the year (raising and releasing Grindylow into the lake to replenish the herd, which had been diminished severely during the war of the year previously). Fairly unceremoniously, he chose Pansy, and he didn’t even have to look at Granger once during the entirety of the class. It was the first time he was glad Hagrid was so fond of his Gryffindor minions, it allowed him a much-needed break from what was fast-becoming a near regret in his eyes, and allowed the oncoming year to loom horrifically before him.

Ignoring Granger was his best bet to make it through it all, Draco knew, and he’d try his best to accomplish it.

At least, for as long as he could. Even if it turned out to only be until their next potions class.

\---

**Hermione**

Hermione wanted to wring his Slytherin neck. Why she had agreed to spend the second half of their double potions day in the library doing the work that had jointly been assigned to them instead of in the dungeon room with the professor around to back her up was beyond her, but she was feeling more and more regret for her actions as more words were exchanged between her and her partner, and not just for where she was currently situated in the potions assignment.

“It’s Flobberworm _tails_ , Malfoy, it says so right here in the text!” Hermione said in a tone that was almost patient, but conveyed all of her frustration and annoyance at the pale pureblood man that was seated next to her, his quill held in his grip so tightly that it quivered and splattered tiny ink droplets on the parchment. She jabbed a finger at the line of text in question, and Malfoy huffed sharply and shook his head.

“I don’t _care_ what the text says, I said that already!” he snapped back without looking at her, his tone just as heatedly calm as hers. She fought the urge to reach out and snap his quill in half. “We created this potion back in fourth year, Flobberworm _heads_ produced a clearer solution that worked faster on the lesions.”

“You don’t happen to have viable proof of that on hand right at this moment, do you, Malfoy?” Hermione asked through gritted teeth. “No, you don’t. We have to stick to what we have in writing, how else are we supposed to confirm our report when there’s no source!”

“If Slughorn questions it, I’ll make the bloody potion myself in front of him!”

“For God’s sake, he isn’t Snape! He isn’t going to give you a chance to prove your writing, Malfoy!” She flung her arm out, her robe twisting around arm with the harsh motion, and was immediately shooshed by a Ravenclaw a few tables over. Her frustration spiked and she rounded on the other student. “ _You_ try dealing with this and see if you don’t break a few rules!”

The Ravenclaw made a noise of offense and snapped their book shut, glaring at the two of them as they picked up their belongings and huffily retreated from the area. Strangely satisfied with this reaction, Hermione turned her attention back onto her insufferable partner, ready to continue the argument. Being referred to as “this” visibly grated on Malfoy’s nerves, but he almost looked surprised at Hermione’s actions from the way he blinked at her, his grip on the quill suddenly not so white-knuckled.

“Unless you want to go back to the potions room now and create concrete proof that you’re right,” Hermione started in a low tone, her hand placed over her forehead as she tried not to fall right back into the heated argument with vigor, “you need to write tails, Malfoy. _Tails_.”

Eyes narrowed dangerously, Malfoy glared at her from over his shoulder and scratched something on the paper before pushing away from the table and grabbing his bag, turning without a word to leave the library. Hermione watched him go, too shocked at the sudden action to think of anything to say or do. It took a moment for her to recover, but when she did, she looked down at the parchment to find, in a small neat script, _one half ounce of Flobberworm heads, crushed_.

The anger only flared briefly before Hermione gathered up her things and fled the library after Malfoy, ready to argue again if she didn’t find him in the potions room when she got there. The need was lost, however, when she found the sleek blond head of her partner in question bent over a cauldron in concentration, Slughorn standing to the side with a bemused expression on his face. Malfoy had apparently wasted no time in getting started, and he didn’t even look up at her when she sat down to wait, explaining to Slughorn what was going on when he wandered over to ask. Neither of them stopped Malfoy and he continued on with the potion until it was completed, then added it to a flask for Slughorn to test.

As it turned out, Flobberworm heads were indeed better, and a correction to their paper was not needed.

Lucky for Hermione, Malfoy wasn’t one to brag.

To her, anyway. But, really, that’s all that mattered.


	5. The First Task

**Hermione**

“Ron, you’re going to choke if you eat all of that so fast,” Neville warned Ron, eyeing the mountain of food on his plate with obvious revulsion. Ron responded with a snort, his mouth already crammed with various breakfast foods to the point where he couldn’t speak. He waved his hand with nonchalance, to which Neville only looked more dubious towards. “Can’t you just take your time? It’s not like—Oh, hullo Hermione.”

“Hullo Neville, Ginny—er,” Hermione halted in her greetings with one leg over the bench she had just started to get seated on, having noticed the plate of food and the wizard who was busy eating it as fast as he possibly could midway through the action. Hermione wrinkled her nose and finished her descent. “What on earth are you doing, Ron?”

“He’s trying to eat enough food to last him through lunch,” Ginny filled Hermione in with obvious exasperation at her brother’s antics. Hermione mirrored the emotion, glancing at the chipmunk-cheeked boy she was so close to.

“Tryouts are today, right. Ron, you do know it’s the weekend? You’ll have all day to practice for your tryout, you really don’t have to skip—”

Ron emptied the contents of his mouth into his stomach with a great swallow and reached across to grab Hermione’s hands in his, effectively cutting her off with bewilderment. “You have to be there, Hermione,” he begged her, leaning so far forward on the table that his elbow dipped into his jam. His hands completely enveloped hers, the rough callouses of his fingers scraping against the soft, dry skin of her palms. It was a feeling she could never get over. “You’re my good-luck charm, always have been. You were there the first time I made the team, there when I took on the chambers—I need you to be there again. Please.”

Hermione blushed, pleased by this declaration Ron was giving her. It was more than she had hoped for after what they had decided on post-war, regarding their relationship. And, really, he looked like he genuinely believed what he was saying. It gave her the same butterflies she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Well, I don’t see why I can’t. Noon, right?”

Ron nodded eagerly, clutching her hands tighter as he beamed excitedly. “Yes—thanks! I’ll see you there, I—I’d better go practice. Haven’t been on a broom in—Blimey, I should’ve skipped breakfast. I’ll see you there!”

“Yes, good luck Ron,” Hermione told him, partially amused and partially still pleased as Ron pulled away from the table and hurried out of the hall, the mountain of food he’d left disappearing into thin air and leaving behind a clean surface. She looked to Neville, who only shook his head.

“At least he’s having a good time through this,” said Neville, still looking on where Ron had run off. “Have you seen Harry?”

“He’s off with Luna, walking the halls and collecting things,” Ginny said when Hermione gave a negative response. She looked a little miffed, but Hermione realized it wasn’t to her boyfriend being with her friend—it was to her partner, whom sat a few tables off and was obviously glowering in her direction. Ginny huffed. “How he got so lucky, I wish I knew. We all got such cruddy pairings out of this and have to suffer—except you, Neville, you seem to get on pretty well with yours. Have you and Hannah done anything?”

“We’re going to the greenhouses later, actually,” said Neville, a little bashful but clearly pleased with the idea. “She’s not much for plants, but Professor Sprout likes me, and since Hannah’s a Hufflepuff, it just made sense to go together.”

Hermione and Ginny nodded. If only they could have something to do together with their partners that was pleasant. Hermione wished, in the very least, McGonagall could have had more of a hand in how the pairings had been drawn. Ginny might have had a good time of it all if she hadn’t been stuck with someone who so obviously had started giving more care to the others around him since Hermione had last seen him—and not in a way that was beneficial to anyone. Except maybe Malfoy and Zabini himself.

And then there was that Ministry tracker he wore on his wrist. It was odd, Hermione was certain Zabini and his mother hadn’t been directly involved with the Death Eaters—had they? Were there things about the war the Ministry was still trying to keep in the shadows? The idea alone worried Hermione, as secrets being kept were never very good.

Ginny groaned, pulling Hermione back to the moment, and placed her head on the surface of the table, her vivid hair splaying out around her. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to pass any of the … what were they? Inspections?”

“Tests, or something,” Neville said helpfully.

“Whatever they are—I’m going to fail them. Miserably. And I’m taking Zabini down with me. We can’t do anything together to even _pretend_ we get on. Not that I’m particularly aching for any alone time with him, but I haven’t spoken to him since I shook his hand in front of McGonagall! You’d think he’d be a little more concerned about doing well, considering.”

Hermione stilled and watched Neville’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. She’d told Ginny what was going on and why exactly all of this had to happen, along with why Hermione had been paired with Malfoy specifically, but that information hadn’t reached Neville and she had wanted to keep it as unknown as possible. Neville, however, despite the frown he was wearing, misunderstood what Ginny was hinting at.

“Well,” he tried consolingly, “his mum might be a famous witch and all that, but this must not be what she considers something he needs to excel in. Your parents don’t particularly care if you pass something you had to do with someone like him, right?”

Ginny looked up and gave Neville a hint of a smile, which he took in stride. “Right. I suppose I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to be housed with him if he wasn’t going to make an effort. It’s quite difficult sneaking your boyfriend anywhere when someone you loathe is constantly hogging the only room with an exit out.”

“Oh, Ginny, you haven’t been sneaking Harry into your room,” Hermione chastised, only half serious.

“Of course not,” said Ginny as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smirked. “He’s got his cloak if he wants to do that. _I’m_ trying to get out to see him, is all. It’s horrible being alone in that room when you’re used to a common room you can socialize in. Bit like a torture chamber, don’t you think?”

“I hope you aren’t getting any ideas from _that_ ,” Neville said, looking horrified at his own train of thought.

Hermione shook her head, laughing at the idea, and Ginny and Neville joined her a moment later. It might not be the best circumstances they were suffering through, but the fact she could still rely on her friends to create moments like this made it much easier for her to bear.

\---

**Draco**

“Look at them,” Blaise said, simmering. “Laughing and carrying on, like this all is a walk through the gardenias.”

Draco turned his head to look where Blaise was indicating, only to look away a moment later, his face screwing up into one of annoyance. “Why are you bothering to look over there? They’re keeping to themselves and leaving us alone, I should think that’s better than what they could be doing.” Blaise grumbled something too quiet to hear, so Draco raised both eyebrows and told him he needed to speak up.

“She put a— _thing_ outside my door this morning,” Blaise went on sourly. “Something from that stupid line of rubbish her brother makes. I tripped on it when leaving and it vanished my shoes. I spent a whole half hour trying to figure out how to fix them.”

Pansy gave a delicate snort of laughter, tuning in on the conversation just as she finished off a letter with a flourish and folded it delicately into a small lavender envelope. “Well, you came in wearing shoes, so you clearly managed to fix it. What did you have to do? Ask her? Is that why you’re being such a troll this morning?”

Blaise shot her a nasty look and mumbled, “They reappeared on their own. I wouldn’t have asked her for help even if my life was on the line. I can take care of my own problems, I don’t need some pushy Gryffindor trying to save my arse from anything.”

Draco winced minutely. Neither Blaise nor Pansy knew the circumstances of this whole farce the school was putting on for his family’s sake and he was planning on keeping it that way. No one needed to know the strings his parents had pulled in order to keep out of Azkaban. To keep from immediately being given The Kiss. It was none of their business and he knew they’d do the same if they were in his shoes. It was just how their kind worked.

Pansy pocketed her letter and stood up from the table, leaving both boys to crane their necks and watch her curiously. “Where are you off to?” Blaise asked first. “Writing home to Mum?”

“Please, Zabini, not all of us are attached to our mothers like we’d die alone and destitute otherwise.” Splaying out her fingers, she fanned herself with small movements, clearly playing it up just to anger the recipient. Blaise grew cold at her words and drew his shoulders back, bringing his chest out. Pansy ignored him. “I’ve got a suitor in France looking to see me over Christmas, I need to owl him with my response.”

That threw Draco off-kilter. He blinked up at her, confused and a little suspicious. “You have a beau?”

Pansy’s expression tensed and then softened. “We’ve had to move on, Draco. Mother and Father want me to finish here so I can say I did and then move onto something bigger in France. Alone.” She touched the pocket of her jumper, where the letter was. “I can’t live a life there alone. Not when I don’t have to.”

Draco couldn’t have explained why, but this information hit him harder than he thought it would have. It wasn’t as if he and Pansy were much more than friends—they’d dated very fleetingly, but had broken it off as he had fallen further into his father’s motives and lost touch with her and their friends, struggling to keep his head and, in turn, his life. He didn’t have time for her and she hadn’t wanted to stay around and wait for him. It had been a mutual understanding, and no real feelings had been lost. They’d had something, but going back wasn’t an option for either of them, so they’d stayed friends if nothing else. But, for some reason, the knowledge that she was moving on to more than just a new man left him feeling … alone. And trapped in something of his own web.

It was suffocating.

Pansy reached out and clasped Draco’s forearm, giving it a light squeeze that went perfectly with the pitying expression she wore. Draco looked away, feeling a wave of humiliation at her pity for him. She released him and left, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to turn back around.

“Pureblood bloke,” said Blaise quietly once Pansy was out of earshot. Draco raised his head to look at him, but Blaise was watching Pansy leave with a troubled expression on his handsome face. “I saw the name on the letter. Proud family, they don’t care much for us. Hogwarts students. Mother knows them, but they’ve been uninterested in associating with us since the war.”

Draco frowned. “They must be interested enough if they want Pansy to visit over Christmas.”

Blaise switched his gaze onto Draco, his expression darkening. “She said she’d be there alone if she went. I don’t think her family plans on keeping many ties with her. The wizard’s family probably set conditions for the relationship.”

“What?” said Draco, bewildered. “The Parkinsons weren’t even involved with Vol—demort.” Draco mentally cursed himself for tripping over the name, but it brought him a small relief to see Blaise wince minutely himself. A year hadn’t been enough time for either of them. “What could they possibly have to hold against her family after the war?”

Blaise watched Draco for a long breath. “Our families aren’t in the best of positions among other purebloods anymore, and some of us are even worse-off for not having a hand in the fire when the time came.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked Blaise as he started to rise from the table. His chest felt tight, like he was almost afraid of what Blaise was talking about. What had been going on that he hadn’t been partial to?

Blaise merely shrugged, adopting what was almost the same sort of air he wore when he believed himself better than all the others around him, which was less often than it used to be, but still often enough that Draco felt the want to hex him for it. “Your father’s kept a lot from you,” Blaise said coolly. “I suggest you start asking questions, Malfoy. Before it’s too late.”

\---

**Hermione**

“Not going to help him cheat his way onto the team again, right, Hermione?” Harry whispered into her ear as they walked towards the Quidditch pitch. Hermione scowled and punched his arm, to which he only winced and laughed.

“I could ask you the same thing!”

“Could not, I never helped him cheat.”

“You made him believe you did!”

“Ah, but see Hermione, that’s the difference,” Harry said with a grin. “I still didn’t actually cheat to help our good friend keep his position on the team.”

Hermione fired up a retort just as they crossed onto the greens, but lost it to the air when a Ravenclaw student hustled up to her with a determined look on his face. “Hermione Granger? The Headmistress wants to see you in her office.”

Hermione exchanged a look with Harry. “What could that be about?” Harry asked in a tone that suggested he knew exactly what it might be about. Hermione made a pained face.

“I don’t suppose it could wait until Gryffindors had their tryouts?” she questioned the Ravenclaw, who returned her question with a dubious look.

“I wouldn’t suggest that.”

“Right,” she mumbled, deflating. “Save Ron for last? I’ll try to make it quick.”

“I’ll relay your request to Ginny,” Harry promised. She gave him a quick hug. “Good luck, ‘Mione.”

She mumbled her thanks and hurried off after her Ravenclaw messenger, only to be abandoned at the stone gargoyle with nothing but a password, which she gave to the empty corridor to enter McGonagall’s office. What she found in there once she arrived, however, was not the white-blond head of her charge; it was much more orange than that, and significantly more delightful.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione squealed, holding out her arms as she rushed her beloved cat, perched on the Headmistress’ desk like he owned it. Just as eagerly, Crookshanks launched himself into the air and into her arms, purring loudly. “Oh, I thought you’d be gone for longer!”

“He’s really quite good at finding things,” a voice said, amused. Hermione pulled her face from Crookshanks’ fur to find Bill smiling at her, still as handsome as ever. “Got the job done in almost half the time we expected to take.”

Hermione grinned, cradling her rumbling cat against her chest. He was exactly what she needed right now. “Crookshanks is good at what he does.”

“That he is,” Bill agreed. He reached out to give the cat’s fur a final rustle. “It was a pleasure to have him around. Even Fleur was growing fond of him by the time we’d finished the mission. You two are welcome to visit at any time. Are you coming to the Burrow over break this year?”

Hermione blinked at him, startled, as the question had not crossed her mind. “I suppose so,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t know where else I’d go. I’m sure your mum will know everything once the time comes, but, honestly. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Good,” said Bill, smiling warmly. “I’ll see you then. Thanks again for lending us Crookshanks’ help.”

Hermione waved goodbye as she departed, toting Crookshanks down the stairs, the feelings of the weeks rushing up to the point of tears, which she smothered into her cat’s fur. “Oh, I’m so happy you’ve turned up early, Crookshanks,” she cooed into the tabby’s fur once they’d reached the end of the spiraling staircase. “The past couple of weeks have been dreadful. I’m tasked with babysitting Malfoy for his own family’s sake—and after all they’d done to me!” said Hermione. Crookshanks trilled a response, enjoying the attention. “Yes, I know. I’ve gone mad. Honestly, truly mad. It’s such a long story to explain why I accepted, and most of it I still don’t understand myself. But what could I do?

“I know they’re horrid people. They wouldn’t have done anything like this if it hadn’t had a benefit for them. And they wouldn’t have done anything if it had been me on the line. Ooh—Purebloods!” she hissed. Crookshanks perked his ears up and twisted his head, but Hermione was still walking along, face pressed comfortingly into his fur. “No, not just purebloods. Ron and Ginny are purebloods and they’re perfectly civil. Well, Ron is _most_ of the time anyway. Pureblood Slytherins, they’re the awful people here,” she continued. She then gave a huff that Crookshanks greatly disliked and was forced to raise her head when he jumped from her arms. It was then she realized the hall she’d been walking along had another occupant that had frozen in their path, looking like they’d swallowed a particularly disappointing sweet—Draco Malfoy.

Hermione gasped, understanding that he had heard her muttering to herself. She felt suddenly ashamed of herself for her words and wishing she could take them back—something she would not have wished a year prior. A year prior, though, Malfoy would not be making the same expression to her words as he did now—a look she couldn’t quite decipher but was at least in part shock. A year ago, nothing she could have said would have created a reaction like that from him. That much she was sure of.

\---

**Draco**

Draco could feel his face was on the verge of flaming up, hot embarrassment making him wish that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He desperately, desperately wished he had not ventured the hall after leaving the Quidditch pitch at this particular moment, though he had not realized Granger was not among those in the pews watching the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts. Even if he had, he told himself, he would have still done what he did now.

She stood there in front of him instead, her monstrous ginger creature winding around her legs and throwing him considerably dark looks for an animal, looking like she couldn’t believe he was in her presence at this particular moment. Wanting to save some form of face after accidentally eavesdropping, Draco pulled his expression into one of disgust and opened his mouth to give her a stinging insult—only to draw a blank on what was previously a fairly plentiful supply. Hearing what she said was not something he expected, and he was startled to find the words stung. Enough that it seemed he couldn’t find anything to say back. He drew back on himself, horrified of his lack of a proper reaction.

The reasons for that, he didn’t want to think about. Not now, not with everything else happening around him. His mind was in turmoil enough; he didn’t need to start questioning his own upbringing before he’d had a clearer head to do so. There were more urgent things at hand.

They stood there in the hall, looking at one another: Draco with his mouth still partially open and his expression rapidly diminishing under his confusion for the whole situation; Granger looking horrified at what she had encountered and unsure of herself.

“M-Malfoy …” she began, and it was enough to rattle a little sense in his head. Closing his mouth, Draco turned his attention away from her and pushed on ahead, ignoring her when she stuttered something he couldn’t quite hear, then turned the corner and didn’t look back.

\---

**Hermione**

The weeks that followed the encounter were more strained than Hermione believed they could be, considering she had thought they were at their furthest point from the very beginning. The classes they had together were the worst parts of her week by far, and with the Grindylow at the hatchling stage of their life and Hagrid declaring that school-assigned partners work on the next project together until they (the Grindylow) reached adolescence, Hermione found herself in the direct company of Malfoy for four of her classes.

If she could even call it company. They barely exchanged any words, and never more than necessary to get the job done. Malfoy did his part before moving aside to allow Hermione to take her turn and kept as much of a distance as he could when they had no choice but to work together at the same time. It was odd for her, not hearing the scathing remarks and having the small rounds of arguing that they got caught up in constantly. She never thought she’d prefer that, but something about this was just _wrong_.

A few days after she first realized this was how Malfoy was going to handle everything from that point on, she’d accepted it with something akin to relief, but that relief soon turned to strict discomfort and worry. Three weeks into it, she even pondered apologizing.

As it was something she’d never thought she’d have to do, Hermione had no way to know how to approach it. How do you apologize to someone you loathe? She supposed that information was buried deep under the same rock that also housed the reason why she was even feeling upset over what had happened in the first place. It was _Malfoy_ , for Merlin’s sake. The same wizard she’d sucker-punched years ago without feeling a shred of self-doubt for the action. The horrid boy-turned-man that she so very much wanted to stay away from after having seen more than her fair share of him even off of school grounds—a time she really didn’t like to think about too often.

The same person … who tried to save Harry and the others at one point, at the risk of his own punishment, and potentially his life if he had later been found out.

It wasn’t exactly redemption, but it was something. Hermione couldn’t deny that. She wondered if that was what sparked it all—but refused to give it much thought, not when she was so very preoccupied with many other things surrounding Malfoy. Including the fact that he was very stubbornly pretending she was part of the foliage as they ventured the edges of the Forbidden Forest, searching for herbs for the potions stockroom.

Really, how was she even supposed to approach apologizing? She knew how to do it normally, with people she genuinely felt deserved it, but with Malfoy … well, maybe he also did. Which didn’t help her situation any—if anything, it made it more confusing.

Hermione took a breath, steeled her shoulders, and reached out to push a hand in front of her partner—effectively stopping him in his tracks. He paused only for a moment in bewilderment before his face contorted and he recoiled from her arm, glancing up at her in anger as he put ample distance between any contact they had had.

“The bloody hell was that for?” Malfoy questioned her, sounding almost exactly like he used to before the war had changed him. Hermione was caught off guard by it. She stuttered through her hesitation, trying to recollect herself.

“I’m—You’ve been outright ignoring me. For weeks.”

He blinked at her like he wasn’t sure she was sane. “Brilliant deduction there, Granger,” Malfoy told her nastily. “Have you got any more or should we just assume we’re all in on the secret? I thought you were the smartest witch of our generation, but even Longbottom could have figured that one out. I think you’re slipping.”

It was the most he’d said to her in weeks, and the urge to smack him reigned up in her emotions alongside regret of even thinking she should have bothered. “I’m not using it as a _statement_ , Malfoy,” she cried indignantly.

Malfoy sneered at her. “It’s a question, then? You very well know why I don’t feel the need to bother socializing with you, deal or not. Were you expecting a tea party out of it?”

“I was _expecting_ —”

But whatever Hermione had been planning to say to him was cut short and lost completely as a sharp cry echoed out from the dark trees, followed by a rumbling that almost sent them both staggering to their knees.

\---

**Draco**

“What was _that_?” Granger cried, echoing Draco’s thoughts as she wildly searched the woods with frantic eyes, her wand already in her hand. Draco scrambled for his own. He pointed it blindly into the forest once he had it, but he couldn’t decipher where the rumbling was coming from even as it continued to grow in intensity.

Granger raised her wand and began to call out a spell when a dark figure burst from the blackness, soaring over the both of their heads and landing with a thump on the other side of them—an odd, four-legged purpleish creature Draco had never seen before in his life.

“Oh no,” he heard Granger whisper beside him in horror. He turned to look at her and regretted the action immediately, as the sight of her so pale made a shiver of terror slide down his spine. They were, clearly, in very deep trouble.

The creature snorted, swinging its long tail in the air. It had thick skin that almost seemed covered in plates and two horns protruding from its head. It was massive, and in what was obviously a very bad mood. Before Draco could fully process what was going on, it charged at them, and all coherence for the situation was lost.

“ _Aim for the eyes_ ,” Granger screeched, whipping her wand up and throwing a spell at the creature, which bounced harmlessly off of its skin as she missed. Draco had never heard her use foul words before, but there was a first time for everything, and today was that first day.

Without taking Granger’s advice, Draco chose to dive to the side instead of throwing a spell as it turned to swing its head at him, only growing angrier with each action the two of them made. He scrambled along the ground, rolling to avoid another thrash of its tail as a flash of gold ricochet off of its temple—another spell missed.

“ _STUPIFY_!” he roared from his position nearly under its feet while it was momentarily distracted by Granger’s spell. Red light blasted from his wand, but once again the spell only bounced off the creature’s skin, leaving Draco stunned and confused, scrambling through the dirt and grass to get back to his feet before he could be crushed. “Why isn’t it working?!”

“It’s a Graphorn! They’re basically immune to spells, I don’t understand how one even got on the grounds!” Granger screeched back, looking panicked and wild as she blasted spell after spell against the Graphorn’s body, all whilst trying to edge her way towards him. Horrified she was trying to direct its attention back onto him, he moved opposite her, keeping himself directly out of the Graphorn’s line of sight. Taking her eyes off of the Graphorn for just a moment, she shot Draco a look that was half confusion and half frustration. “ _What are you doing_?”

“Saving my own hide, obviously!”

Granger looked bewildered, still moving in jerky motions and casting spells, some of which she didn’t even open her mouth to use. “We need to get its eyes and we can’t very well do that at opposite ends of the thing!”

“Why can’t you just do it? You’re the one who’s so good at magic here!” Draco shot back, miming her movement and keeping the distance between them from lessening. Though it was preoccupied with the onslaught of spells Granger kept throwing at it, the Graphorn seemed to be getting frustrated with them and stomped its feet angrily, swinging its head at Granger and very nearly goring her shoulder. She threw herself to the ground, allowing the Graphorn a moment of peace from her attacks, which it took in stride and roared viciously. Granger threw her arms up in response, terrified.

“ _Malfoy_!”

Draco cursed, readied his wand, then cursed again. What could he possibly use against something that was able to repel spells?

“ _Glacius_!” he tried, whipping his wand through the spell motions. The spell again merely repelled from the Graphorn, but it was enough to startle it, like it had forgotten Draco was behind it. It bought Granger a moment of time, but not enough of it to do more than crawl a few feet away and throw another useless spell.

“Stop using spells on it!” Draco yelled in frustration at her, casting another of his own spells to counteract the one Granger had cast, bringing the Graphorn’s attention back into confusion. “You’re never going to get away from it if you keep doing that!”

“I have to do _something_ ,” she cried back. “You’re not even near its eyes—I am!”

“You can’t bloody well do anything if you’re a pulp on the ground!”

“So keep helping me confuse it, it won’t have a chance to do anything to me if we keep this up!”

Draco whipped his wand in extreme frustration, matching each of the spells Granger tried with one of his own, even as he contemplated letting it crush her just to shut her up. The more spells they threw at it, the angrier and angrier it got.

“If we keep this up, it’ll _kill you_!” he roared, and then everything took a horrible turn for the worse as the Graphorn seemed to lose all sense of patience with the two humans. It swung its head in Granger’s direction and she shrieked in terror, trying desperately to keep out of its way and avoid being speared. Draco’s stomach plummeted when her wand flew from her hand, and she could only look up at the gigantic monster with her hands held defensively useless in front of her. Without even thinking, Draco threw himself at the Graphorn, not so much as moving it even a single inch on the ground. But, the idea worked, and its attention was diverted yet again—this time directly onto him.

“Malfoy!” Granger screamed as Draco caught sight of a horn coming his way and realized he had no way to dodge it. “ _NO_!”

“ _EVANESCO_!”

The incantation boomed through the air around them and the Graphorn vanished from sight. Draco fell to the ground, heaving air into his lungs and shaking all over from adrenaline. Entirely confused and still terrified, Draco looked to Granger for an explanation—only to find her doing the same to him from where she lay on the ground.

“Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger,” a female voice announced and Professor McGonagall materialized from the wood, her face a mask of cold disappointment. Her arms were crossed, and she looked more stern than Draco had ever seen her before. “You have failed your first task,” she informed them. Draco’s heart dropped into his stomach. Task?

_That_ had been a task?

From the color of Granger’s pallor and the wideness of her eyes, Draco could tell she too was shocked beyond comprehension at what McGonagall was informing them of. Slowly, with McGonagall beckoning her on, she pulled herself to her feet, not even attempting to dust off the dirt and bits of grass that stuck to her robe. Her wand hung limply by her side. Draco followed suit, feeling shaky on his feet.

“Please,” said McGonagall, “follow me to my office so we can discuss the consequences of your failure—and what should be done to prevent it from happening again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Pansy is a somewhat OOC via her actions and speech in Draco’s parts, but I figured if I was going to give Draco and Blaise a better (eventual, anyway) light to be portrayed in, I might as well give her one, too. Especially since I like to believe all the students could have been redeemed in some way, even if they weren’t in canon. (Plus, and keep this on the down-low, I always felt Pansy and Blaise’s characters were a little too one-dimensional to be believable, and I decided to chalk that up to only ever seeing the side Harry saw. Or something. I’m changing them and letting them grow up just a smidge okay I’m sorry.)


	6. The Punishment

**Draco**

She had led them swiftly back to her office, an air of unease and disappointment wafting behind her. Granger had kept her head down the entire way, and Draco, despite himself, felt as if he had failed someone more than just his headmistress. He had failed his father, too.

He tried to tell himself that it’s not as if he had known that had been the task–neither of them had known what to expect and how to expect it, how would he have been able to pass something he couldn’t have known was a test? But, as much as he tried to, the words felt flimsy in his head. Brittle, not worth losing his father over. He should have known. He _should_ have.

Seated in front of the headmistress’ desk, Draco worked hard to keep his gaze level, though he wanted nothing more than to look at his shoes and accept the words McGonagall had for him and for Granger. He held his breath, because that made staying still easier.

McGonagall shook her head solemnly, her eyes gazing at Granger in a way Draco knew was not just for her, despite her words, “I expected better of you, Miss Granger. This is a very serious circumstance we all must face here and I felt you had the best credentials to understand how dire consequences can be with time against them.” She reached up and pressed two fingers to the dip between her eyebrows. “To say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over to Granger. She visibly wilted under McGonagall’s words, her lower lip pressed between her teeth and her eyes focused on something beneath her feet. It was clear she felt worse about how poorly she and Draco were cooperating thus far, though Draco felt he had much more reason to be upset about it than she did—it was _his_ father’s life on the line, not hers.

He felt horrible, but, somehow, he could tell she felt worse just by looking at her.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she said in a voice clearer than Draco had been expecting, then startled him by turning her gaze up and directly into his. He held it for a moment, trying to keep a look of distinct dislike in his gaze to keep out the horror he felt, then switched to the desk McGonagall stood against as Granger continued to speak. “You’re right—we’re not handling this to the level we should, and that is very much as equal my fault as it is Malfoy’s. I suppose a lack of familiarity for what is on the line should I fail is what’s kept me from pushing forward despite the obstacles, along with an … exhaustion, I guess, from what we’ve already overcome. I know the war isn’t truly over until everything is sorted out—I suppose I was just eager to put it behind me before the time has come. I’ll do better. A life is still at risk here, and I won’t let it fail to survive based solely on my part.”

Draco glanced up at McGonagall midway through Granger’s little speech to find her expression softening, and a bitter burn crawled up his throat in retaliation to the sight. By the time Granger had finished, he was sure he’d spit acid if he had to open his mouth.

“You are both at fault here, Miss Granger,” McGonagall consoled her, shaking her head. “Mr. Malfoy is just as responsible as you are for the lack of camaraderie between the two of you. I recognize the point is not to make friends of you, but instead to help the Malfoy family understand what it was they were doing by accepting a fealty to Muggleborn- and muggle-hating belief, and how harmful their decisions were to their own kind. We must still start small and we cannot do this with you two bickering all the time. Which is why—” McGonagall paused just long enough to take a small breath, and it was with that breath that Draco felt a blanket of impending doom settle over his shoulders “—I’ve decided to have you two host a tutoring group for a few hours twice a week following the Halloween Feast.”

\---

**Hermione**

Ron, once again, was the one to take this information the worst out of everyone—though Ginny looked like she wanted to snap up her broom and fly through Malfoy’s window to give him a stern talking-to. If you could constitute an array of thrown hexes as a stern talking-to.

“She’s making you _what_?!” he spat over breakfast the next morning, after Harry had inquired why she hadn’t shown up for their somewhat bi-weekly meet up in one of the abandoned corners of the school—to chat and such. And maybe poke around in places they hadn’t seen since the war. Everyone in Ron’s close vicinity covered their plates and shot him a look, which ranged from a glare (Ginny) to an annoyed frown (Hermione). “Have you really not committed yourself enough to this asinine cause?”

“Asinine,” Harry muttered into his toast from beside Ginny, nodding his head in approval. “Good word, Ron.”

Ginny turned her glare onto Harry. “ _Asinine_ might be what this is, but my food shouldn’t be at stake.”

Hermione ignored them both, turning her frown from Ron back onto her plate. “I’m not anymore thrilled with the turn of events than you all are, but we’ve failed the task. There’s got to be some form of punishment, or it’ll look like the school isn’t even trying.”

“ _Not even trying_ ,” Ginny now retaliated, “like you aren’t already spending more time than you ever wanted to with him. Honestly.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m not happy with it, okay. But I can’t go questioning it when I’m the one who agreed to it in the first place,” she said, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “The goal here is to save Malfoy’s family and his father’s life. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I knew it would require some being in Malfoy’s presence. What’s a little more in the form of tutoring? I wanted to help the younger students anyway this year, and now I’m getting a chance to do it.”

The party as a whole looked unsettled and entirely unaccepting of this, but, aside from Ron still steaming into his eggs, no one offered further commentary. Hermione was satisfied with this. Mostly.

When they all stood up from their breakfast to begin their departure for their first class of the day, though, Hermione looked up from packing her book back into her satchel to find Harry standing next to her, a deep furrow marring the space between his brows and a look of worry behind his bottle-shaped glasses. A quick glance around told her the others had departed—even Ron, despite the fact he and Harry had their first class together. Hermione knew that meant he was angrier with her than he had let on, but she’d have to figure that out later.

“Harry?” she questioned her friend, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“You’re alright, aren’t you?” he blurted out suddenly, looking almost startled at himself for his lack of restraint. “With Malfoy, I mean. He’s not treating you horribly?”

Hermione blinked. “You’ve been waiting a long time to ask me that specifically, haven’t you?”

“Didn’t want to question it if you weren’t the one to start talking about it first,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “He hasn’t made you cry yet, so I supposed it could wait until, but it’s been weeks now and you’re still pretty okay, considering.”

“He’s not quite the same slimy git we grew up with,” Hermione admitted, starting the trek from the Great Hall. Harry followed along diligently, his steps nearly in time with her own. “Still a git, but he’s less concerned with harassing me than he used to be. It’s quite unusual, if I’m being honest. I thought this would be much more unbearable.”

“You’ve come around quite annoyed before, he can’t be a bucket of daisies,” Harry pointed out.

“No, he does still push my buttons. But it’s more from arguing, he doesn’t taunt me. It’s possible he realizes I’m a crucial part of everything, and that making it miserable is just straining the risk that’s already been put in place.”

Harry looked thoughtful at that, his head lilting to the side just slightly. “I suppose he’s not a _total_ moron. Understanding that seems pretty basic.”

“Not a total moron?” Hermione’s hand fluttered to her chest in mock surprise. “Harry James Potter, are you _complimenting_ Draco Malfoy?”

The look Harry gave her was scathing, but she grinned back all the same. “We all have to grow up at some point, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I suppose we do.”

\---

**Draco**

Granger was standing casually by the sidelines of the spacious room when Draco had finally managed to locate where they’d been assigned to, her uniform in careful disarray in conjunction to the stuffiness of the air that surrounded them. She’d shed her robe and left it on the steps alongside her jumper and bag, and she had loosened the knot of her tie so that it hung limply from her neck; her hair pulled up in some semblance of a wild bird’s nest, though Draco supposed she had been going for a bun. It was a definite failure on her part, but that seemed to bother her just as little as it always did; she was clearly more focused on the job of calling out corrections as a small group of third-year students practiced their wand motions before her. She caught sight of Draco just as he was dropping his bag near the door and raised her hand in a motion that he took to be beckoning him, no doubt to tell him what to do.  He obliged, but as slowly as he dared, trying his best to convey just how disinterested he was in this punishment McGonagall had put on them. The closer he got, the more deliberate the motion of her arm became, her skin in contrast to the stark white of her rolled uniform sleeves.

It was the first time this year Draco had seen her with her sleeves rolled up, and it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of scars on his forearm that the reason for that hit him. Realization sent prickles up his spine even as he averted his gaze immediately, something horrifically akin to guilt blooming in his gut.

Memories of his aunt dancing through the rooms of his home, gleefully bragging about what she had done, assaulted his mind. The crimson of the blood on her blade flashing as she sang about “branding” the Mudblood like the lowly creature she was. Draco remembered feeling sick to his stomach from the fear, lightheaded from having failed in his attempt to misidentify his last solace against the monster that was his Lord. Screams that sounded nothing more than human still rang in his ears, and he remembered thinking that the blood on Bella’s knife didn’t look all that different from his own.

Echoes of the feelings hit him for a brief moment and he hesitated, trying to recollect himself before facing her. She didn’t seem to notice his sudden change in demeanor, however, as she continued to boss him around in the same tone he assumed she had been using on the third-years before.

“Malfoy, finally, I was beginning to suspect you’d either decided all this was beneath you or you just had a lack of understanding for punctuality,” said Granger, her eyes on one of the young Hufflepuffs rather than on Draco. Scowling, Draco crossed his arms and didn’t grace her with any sort of retort, which didn’t slow her in the slightest. “You’ll be quizzing Gint, Barnes, Geary, O’Fayre and Molstrov on their potions composition.” Raising her arm again—the same scarred one as before, Draco noticed with a slight twinge of awe at how carelessly she was now flashing the marks—she gestured to the group of mixed Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor students sitting on the steps he’d passed on his way across the room, each of them bent over a familiar potions book he owned himself once upon a time. The lot of them looked less than pleased to be in their position, and one of the Gryffindors shot Granger a look of longing, clearly wishing he weren’t about to be under Draco’s tutelage. “The pages are marked for which potions they’ll have on the test, but McGonagall couldn’t get us any space to practice brewing yet, so that’ll have to come next week. For now, read off the potions and they’ll tell you how to make them. Just check their responses with the book.”

Annoyance sparked up at her words, and Draco felt the need to scoff, which he accompanied with a precise eye roll before he turned away. “I don’t need the book. I remember how to make third-year potions, Granger. It was my best subject back then just as much as it is now.”

Though he was no longer facing her, Draco could hear the tone of exasperation in her voice when she replied, “Fine. Don’t use the book, then. Just get the job done right, Malfoy. We’ll switch in twenty minutes and then move on to the next bit.”

_Next bit?_ Draco wondered to himself as he found a position before the students he was to quiz. The ones who had their books opened snapped them shut and sighed miserably, while the others looked like they just wanted to be anywhere but where they were at this moment. Draco could relate. _How long exactly are we all going to have to suffer this?_

His question would be answered an hour and a half later, when the students began to pack their things up after each being tutored by Granger in wand motions and Draco in potion composition and then being pitted against one another and made to practice simple dueling spells—which resulted in more than one swelled face and quite a few burns, thankfully none of which Draco suffered. He had managed to be quick enough on his feet when a wayward spell had gone his way. Somehow, Granger had not been in the path of any misplaced spells, and Draco wasn’t sure if that was because at least two thirds of the student body present preferred her over him or because she was using her skills in non-vocal casting to keep herself safe. Either way, he only cared that he was much more likely to be stunned by the time this tutoring thing was finished with than she was.

“See you on Thursday!” Granger called out cheerfully as the mixture of students filtered out of the room, looking distinctly more disgruntled and worn out than they had been upon arriving. “I’ll send out a notice once I know which room we’ll be in, so keep an eye out for that!” A few turned back to throw her a hopeful wave as they departed, to which Draco snorted and mimicked immediately, much to Granger’s obvious disdain.

“Oh, I do hope she’ll think about privately tutoring me!” said Draco in a falsetto, causing one of the students, a Gryffindor, to turn red and scurry away. Granger threw him a nasty look, which he returned. “They clearly can’t get over you, Granger. Suppose you might have to dump Weasel’s arse to take one of them up on a date? Might get you extra points in with McGonagall.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” retorted Granger bitterly. “You should know better than to act like that at your age. _Honestly_.”

“I was channeling the subject,” Draco responded callously.

Granger forcefully shoved her robe into her satchel and hiked the overstuffed bag onto her shoulder, scowling. “You already know I don’t want to do this anymore than you do. Bickering over it is just going to cost us another chance at passing a task, which I _know_ isn’t something you want either.” She narrowed her eyes. “Would it kill you to just go along with it?”

“Might very well,” he agreed thoughtfully.

“I suppose we all can hope,” was Granger’s acidic retort. Draco waited for her to flush or take it back, or offer some form of apology for the harsh words, but a beat passed with none of the above and she continued to stand stoic in front of him, looking peeved.

“That’s cold, Granger,” Draco said finally.

Granger crossed her arms. “I’m channeling the subject.”

Draco had no retort for that, but he didn’t end up needing one as Granger pushed passed him and exited the room, leaving him to collect his things alone.

\---

**Hermione**

Though Hermione had known to expect it, the addition of her required tutoring sessions made her time feel as if it had much tighter boundaries, and it made spending time with her friends—whom she so rarely saw now that they had no common room to speak of—that much harder to accomplish. It wouldn’t have been much of a problem if she could get her homework done early enough, which wasn’t something she had previously been incapable of accomplishing, but it had become a problem thanks to an inability to find seclusion with which to do homework in. Without common rooms for students to hang around in, many of them had taken to lounging around the Great Hall between hours, while others chose the library as their favorite haunt.

This, Hermione reasoned, wouldn’t be an issue if they knew to stay quiet. And, despite common knowledge that libraries are to be whispered and studied in, they did not know how to stay quiet, much to both Hermione’s and Madam Pince’s dismay. She’d tried her best to work on her homework there all the same, but found the constant shushing of the poor librarian to be too much of a distraction. At last, she realized she only had one of two options left to pick from: the girl’s lavatory on the first floor (and Myrtle, by association—not quite the quiet atmosphere she yearned for) or her own private common room (and Malfoy, by association, as he shared the common room, too).

She was smart enough to realize there wasn’t _really_ an option, but giving herself one made her feel a little bit better before deciding the shared common room really was her only choice. Luckily, he did tend to stay in his own room when he wasn’t out, so she very rarely had to see him, and never had to interact with him.

Or so she had thought.

“Is it really so hard to take your homework elsewhere?” Malfoy asked her on the third night as he entered the dorms, the door swinging silently shut behind him. Hermione looked up in surprise, blinking at him twice. He had a finger in the knot of his tie and was in the process of working it loose, both eyebrows raised in question—though not a nice one.

“It’s far too loud elsewhere, if you must know,” Hermione retorted, turning her focus back onto the chart she had been in the process of making. She had blotted the ink. Cursing silently, she took out her wand to fix it. “I have to do it here, else I’ll get behind. I don’t know how you get anything done yourself.”

“I do mine in an empty potions room,” he replied, and Hermione was startled to realize she hadn’t thought of that. Most of the empty classrooms still had students in them, but most of the dungeon classrooms remained bare—too cold and damp for anyone but a Slytherin.

“I suppose that’s an option,” Hermione muttered, her attention slipping back to the homework before her. Something about her chart was off, she could tell from the way certain ingredients weren’t lining up properly with the result. Was it the beetle eyes? They were so basic an ingredient; they shouldn’t have needed a switch from where they were. Perhaps the dragon’s blood, that was always a very tricky one.

“You’ve put dittany in the wrong place,” came a dry voice from over her shoulder. Malfoy, peering down at her homework from behind her, his tie now hanging loose around his neck. His eyes moved rapidly, sparking the childish want in Hermione to cover her work with her arms. “There,” he said a moment later, leaning in and pressing a finger to a section on the parchment. “The combination is unique; it won’t work if you put another base in.”

He was right. Quickly correcting her mistake, Hermione scribbled the new answer in its proper slot. “Thank you,” she breathed, hoping maybe he wouldn’t hear. Silence met her thanks. She tried to focus again on the next piece, but, when Malfoy didn’t move away, became annoyed in an instant.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t hover, Malfoy,” she hissed back at him.

“I already finished my chart, I wanted to see if you came to the same answers and results I had,” he replied coldly. She felt his presence ease and knew he had moved away.

“Then take a chair and wait, don’t stand over me like some overbearing parent.”

Without a word in reply, she heard the sound of his footsteps as he retreated from beside her. She didn’t have much time to wonder if she’d said something specific before the sound of his door opening up again caused her to look up and over at him as he returned with a roll of parchment in one hand and his quill and inkwell in the other. She watched him as he sat down, set up his inkwell and quill, and unrolled the parchment, which was blank.

“I thought you did your homework in the dungeons?” she asked him. He met her gaze out of the corner of his eye. When he didn’t answer her, she went back to working on her chart.

It took a minute or two of quill scratching from the both of them before he spoke, his voice quiet and clearly annoyed, “I couldn’t quite figure out my arithmancy.”

“Are you asking me for my help?” Hermione questioned, causing the faintest hint of a scowl to spread across Malfoy’s deatures.

“In exchange for my help on your potions assignment.”

“I don’t need help on my potions assignment, I’m quite capable of finishing It on my own.” He cast her a dubious look. It was really quite insulting. She fought a noise of offense. “I’ve managed just fine in the class on my own thus far, Malfoy, I don’t need your help.”

“But you can do better than fine if I help you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but hesitate. She certainly didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. She was good, but he was better, if only just. It could give her the edge she needed.

“I suppose you are good with potions,” she admitted.

“I’m good at everything I do,” he protested, sparking something ugly in Hermione’s will. “A man of my stature does not do anything but well at whatever it is he is doing.”

“Yes, you must be something decent for your wife to hang on in the future,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Unless she’s mad, I suppose. What else in their lives do they have to boast about but their families, the women in your society? Certainly, not their brains.”

“That’s my _mother_ you’re talking about, Granger,” Malfoy said in a soft, chilling voice. Hermione had crossed a line. Looking up, she found him staring intently at her, unwavering even as she held it. So, he did feel protective of his parents in some sense—or, one of his parents, at least.

“I have no reason to believe your mother is any better than the others,” she responded calmly, the malice gone from her tone.

“She saved Potter’s life, or have you forgotten?”

“In exchange for _you_ , Malfoy,” she reminded him. “Everything she did was for you, no matter how much it may have helped me or my friends. If you had been on the line, she would have killed all of us without so much as batting an eye.”

He didn’t respond to that, but he continued watching her with icy eyes, his face all sharp planes and pale, smooth skin. Hermione looked away first.

“This conversation is irrelevant,” she said to change the subject back. “Yes, alright. You help me and I’ll help you. I am not going to do the entirety of your assignment, however. I hope that’s clear.”

“It was never more than crystal,” Malfoy replied, his voice low, and then said nothing more on the matter.

Hermoine would be wrong, however, to think the conversation was done. They would work quietly together from there, murmuring corrections in uncomfortable, hard tones as they both completed their respective assignments, but it would only take an hour or so for Malfoy to go completely silent, and for Hermione to stop the process altogether. Once again, it would be Malfoy to break the silence.

“The battle,” he started. A glance told Hermione he wasn’t looking at her, but instead had his eyes on his quill, poised over his parchment like a knife. “We had little to fight for but ourselves, my family.”

The air Hermione was breathing escaped her. It took a beat for her to regain it. “You were on the wrong side, Malfoy,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t matter who you were fighting for, you were still fighting against us.”

“We switched,” Malfoy spat, slapping his quill down on the table hard enough to snap it in half. In an instant, his chest heaved and his face blazed red with pent-up anger. Hermione had jumped, nearly knocking over her inkwell, and she scrambled to right it before it turned her homework black. “We switched alliances and we were told we would not be prosecuted! We were lied to!” he continued.

“You had _years_ of alliance to Voldemort,” Hermione retorted, noting how Malfoy winced at the name. “A few minutes’ change of mind isn’t enough to erase that.”

“So you think killing off my father and imprisoning my mother and me in Azkaban is just action for that?” he questioned coldly.

“Of course not,” she responded hastily. “If I believed that, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this. Some form of retribution might be in order so that the Ministry can be sure you won’t turn around and start a third war or something, but killing off your father and shoving the rest of you in Azkaban is not the proper way of handling it. You did change alliance when others didn’t, as late as the switch may have been.”

“Then you agreed because you think you deserve to deliver the form of retribution the Ministry believes is correct?”

“No,” she said immediately. Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at how quickly she had rejected his theory, which she realized she still couldn’t justify.

Malfoy gave her a moment before opening his own mouth again. “No? Then what reason are you doing any of this for, Granger? I’m not ignorant to the history of mistrust and abuse we share. No one in this bleeding school is, we all saw how they reacted when the names were called.”

“Most of that was because you were such a prat,” Hermione reminded him.  “You hexed me.”

“You _punched_ me.”

“You deserved it.”

“That’s completely beside the point,” he countered, though Hermione found that to be dubious. “Besides, you’ve hexed me back. On more than one occasion if I remember right.”

“You turned me in to Umbridge, I believe it was fair.”

“You would have done the same! Actually, you did try to do the same—you tried to turn my father in. Merlin, my whole family at one point. And you accused me of being—what was it? Slytherin’s heir? Second year, right? Oh, I could go on with the accusations if we’re going that route, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Most of that was all Harry, Malfoy. Believe it or not, I tried to discourage that train of thought. I’ve tried to discourage many of his trains of thought regarding you, actually. Merlin knows why, but I did try.”

“It clearly never caught.”

“Harry is stubborn,” Hermione agreed. “But he’s a good friend. I would do anything for him, including go along with his harebrained schemes, even if it was just because I was trying to save him from them.”

“Anything,” Malfoy repeated, and then quieted for a moment. Hermione looked up from where she had been curling the edge of her parchment in her fingers to find him watching her, his mouth pursed. “You would have died for him,” he said finally, surprising Hermione. She hadn’t thought he’d bothered to look at it that way.

“Of course,” she agreed at once. “The same as he would for me.” She paused just for a moment, and then corrected herself, “The same as he _did_ do for me.”

“Potter didn’t die in that forest,” Malfoy corrected her quietly, knowing exactly what she meant. Hermione supposed his mother had relayed the story at one point—of course, he was present at her hearing. He knew the story.

“He thought he was going to, and it didn’t stop him from leaving to save us all from that horrid man,” argued Hermione, vehemently. “We thought he had died. _I_ thought he had died.” And she had never regretted something more than she regretted letting him go through that alone—even though she knew it had to happen that way.

Silence, but for the cackling of the fire in the hearth, surrounded them again. Malfoy looked thoughtfully at his half-finished essay while Hermione turned back to working on hers, muttering an incantation under her breath as she righted an error she had made. Had she been watching, she might have witnessed the flash of jealousy cross Malfoy’s face, and, without understanding in the moment, she would have later connected the pieces of a thought she had never bothered to nurture before.

Unfortunately for them both, she had been too busy scratching out a paragraph to bother even a glance in Malfoy’s direction when the time had come, and the expression passed by unnoticed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be very long, as far as I'm aware. I can't give more than a rough estimate to how long exactly, because as I plan out more chapters and write more material, I find myself pushing the length out further in order to accommodate the ever-growing plot. What had previously been 10 planned chapters is now ... more, I can't really give a number as I haven't planned them yet, but they're there. As I write more out, I find more I want to add.
> 
> It'll taper off to a close at SOME point, but your guess is as good as mine as to where that'll be.
> 
> If you enjoy what you're reading, please stick around! It might take a while, but I have lots to throw at you. Some of which I'm not even fully aware of yet. It'll be an adventure.


End file.
